


the way you use your body, baby

by honeydripping



Series: how you get the girl [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Bad Sex, Bisexual Character, Dirty Talk, F/F, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Light Bondage, Mild BDSM, Phone Sex, Rule 63, Sexual Inexperience, Women in the NHL, mild homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 10:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18991021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeydripping/pseuds/honeydripping
Summary: “It’s not, like, a boyfriend thing,” Johnny tries to explain, hands tangling in the drawstring on her hoodie.“So, it’s a sex thing,” Kevin says. She nods. “You have a sex thing with my cousin.”





	the way you use your body, baby

**Author's Note:**

> IF YOU FOUND THIS THROUGH GOOGLE, KNOW ANYONE MENTIONED IN THIS FIC, OR ARE MENTIONED IN THIS FIC: dear god please turn back now. this is, obviously, a work of fiction, but some of the events mentioned within are inspired by real life.
> 
> Title from Hunger by Florence + the Machine.
> 
> Big shoutout to Cayce for sticking with me through all of this—and to Hannah and Abby for being my betas.
> 
> Warning for vaguely under-negotiated kink. Everyone is consenting and having a good time, but there could be more discussion.
> 
> This fic has been _such_ a labor of love for me. I've been working on this fic since October and it's my _baby_.
> 
> Technically, this is the second part of my girlverse, as it follows the first Jack/Noah fic in chronology. With that said, it can 100% be read as a standalone.

 

“So, what is it that you do for a living?” Felix asks.

Johnny takes a long sip of her drink before answering.

“Journalism,” she says. “Sports journalism.”

“Ah,” he says, and if Johnny were more sober, she wouldn’t have to stifle the giggle that bubbles up in her when she realizes just how fucking _French_ he sounds when he says it. “Any publication I’d recognize?”

She shakes her head, curls tumbling about. It’s a move, a big one, but she knows it works. Her track record is fairly solid. 

“Probably not. I’m American.”

He hums, drawing circles on the bar-top with the moisture he’s collected from his drink.

“Here for business?” 

“Pleasure,” she says, biting softly at the corner of her lip and looking up at him. His eyes catch on her mouth. _Bingo_ , she thinks.

They’re in Ottawa, coming off a two game losing streak as they work their way through the Eastern Canadian road trip. She doesn’t exactly have her fingers crossed for tomorrow night’s game, but there’s a reason the coaches all but pushed them out of the hotel. The team is tense and they need to unwind. _She_ needs to unwind. And if she has it her way, she’s going to be unwinding all night long with Felix.   

The team is scattered throughout the club, some down the bar from her, most are congregated at a few tables in the corner, and a few are on the dance floor. She’s alone at the moment. It’s making her careless, having no one watching her.

A little too careless.

She’s been chatting with Felix for thirty minutes or so when Chucky walks over to her. 

“Made a friend?” Chucky asks from over her shoulder, where he’s suddenly—and unfortunately—materialized.

“Get lost, rookie,” she bites out at him. He presses closer to her, his body a steady line of heat all down her side.

“Matthew,” he says, drawing himself up to his full height, and resting his hand on the back of Johnny’s chair. It’s a move that simultaneously makes her bristle and preen.

“Felix,” the other guy says, standing tall as well. Johnny rolls her eyes. She hopes she’s not about to be dragged into the middle of some weird pissing contest between the guy she’s trying to fuck and her teammate who can’t take a hint.

Chucky tries to insert himself into whatever she and Felix were talking about before he rudely interrupted, but the moment is clearly gone. Felix leaves shortly after, excusing himself as politely as he can, casting one final glance at Matthew, before walking away.

As soon as he’s disappeared into the depths of the club, Johnny shoves Chucky back from where he’s still hovering over her shoulder.

“What the _fuck_ ,” she whispers through gritted teeth. “You just cockblocked me.”

“I— _what_?”

“What did you think was happening there, Matthew? I was _trying_ to get that big, _beautiful_ man to go back to the hotel with me.”

“You were?” Chucky’s eyes go as big as saucers. He looks at her like he’s never seen her before. Or like he’s seeing her for the sexually active grown ass woman that she is for the very first time. 

“I just—I thought—he had a creepy vibe,” he says defensively. “I was just trying to be a good teammate.”

Johnny groans. “Great. Now it’s gonna be just me and my vibe all night. Thanks a lot.” She downs the rest of her drink and slides off the stool she’s been perched on. 

Back on solid ground, her height difference with Matthew is _very_ apparent. A thought flickers through her mind when she looks up at him, but she doesn’t hold onto it long enough to figure out what it is or what it could be.

Matthew, still processing, suddenly snaps back to reality. “Your _vibe_?” he asks, voice pitched a little high, blinking rapidly down at her. 

“Yeah,” Johnny says, moving away from Matthew and the bar. “Gotta decompress before the game somehow.” 

He’s beside her now, matching her pace. “Do you do this a lot?” 

“What, pick up?” He nods. “Not every time we go on a roadie, but,” she shrugs, “enough to know what I’m doing.” He stares at her, mouth dropped open. 

“But I thought—the guys said—I thought—” He looks dumbfounded. She knows what the guys think. They think that little Johnny Gaudreau, who’s never had a serious relationship, has close to zero experience with guys.

(She thinks of the Valentine’s Day video from a few years back, how all the guys had said her name when asked who’d have the hardest time getting a date.

“Johnny, for sure,” Sean had said, laughing, long hair falling across her eyes. “She doesn’t know how to talk to guys.”

She was right about that. Johnny really didn’t know how to talk to guys. But she was good at _listening_. She was even better at letting her body talk. 

“Did they say me?” Johnny’d asked. “Of course they did,” she’d said, letting a flush spread across her cheeks, totally fucking selling it.)

“The guys don’t know everything, Chucky,” she says. 

He follows her all the way to the tables the team has claimed in the corner. It’s more empty now than when she’d slinked off to the bar, only Benny and Mony are there, heads leaned in close together around one of their phones. Sean looks up, briefly, nodding at her.

“Headed out?” she asks, craning her head to look around Johnny. Seeing Chucky behind her, Sean arches one eyebrow.

“Yep. Alone,” Johnny replies, annoyed. Sean lets out a laugh, crooked smile taking over her face.

“Have fun with that,” Sean says, going back to whatever she and Sam were watching.

Johnny collects her coat easily and shrugs into it, starting to walk away from the table. It gets caught on her elbow once she’s a few paces away and before she can do anything about it, Chucky’s there, sliding it up her arm, hands settling on her shoulders. 

“I could help you,” he says, leaning into her space. This close she can smell the cologne he’s wearing, something spicy. A shiver runs down her spine.

Johnny doesn’t even pause to consider his offer. She just throws her head back and laughs. Matthew has the grace to look insulted when she looks back at him. 

“No thanks, rookie,” she says, straightening her collar. “I’m all set.”

“But I’m really good,” he pouts, bottom lip sticking out.

“Sure,” she says, patting his arm, “I bet that’s what all the girls in the O told you.”

He scowls.

“Get a little more experience under your belt and come back to me,” she says, before heading out of the bar and back to the hotel.

—

Johnny knows what the guys in the league think of her. That’s she’s sweet and shy and doesn’t know how to talk to guys. They tease her for not having a boyfriend, for being such a _good girl_. For waiting for the right guy to come along. She knows her reputation. 

A good girl, both on and off the ice. A total fucking girl scout. 

And to their credit, she plays her part well. She _is_ shy, genuinely. And she _is_ a good girl. She blushes easily and often, and she gets overwhelmed by attention.

But the league made an assumption a long time ago, one that years of exposure just can’t shake. If Johnny doesn’t pick up in front of the team, Johnny doesn’t pick up at all.

They couldn’t be more wrong.

Unlike them, Johnny understands the need for subtlety, the importance of sneaking around, the value in keeping a secret. When they’re on the road, she takes full advantage of having a private room, leaving the bar earlier than the guys and making sure they see her walk out alone.

She meets her guy on the curb outside almost every time, cabbing or driving back to the hotel with him.  

It’s easy.

—

Because Johnny is an idiot, she takes Matthew to Cabo over the bye week. 

Sean had just finished telling her all about the trip she and her girlfriend were taking and something in Johnny just snapped. She goes into a fugue state or she’s possessed or _something_ because the next thing she knows, she’s turning to Chucky on the bench and saying, “So bye week—Cabo?” 

He says yes. 

Obviously.

It’s her third full season in the NHL and she’s never _had_ a break during the season that wasn’t for a holiday or the All-Star Game. She feels drunk on the possibilities. Four days of no hockey, of beaches and alcohol and _sun_.

She miscalculates—just a little.

They charter a flight directly from Pittsburgh to Cabo after the game, cracking open champagne and taking turns sipping straight from the bottle. She blames the high of the win, but really, she’d do anything to see Chucky’s stupid smile right now.

He passes out an hour into the flight and Johnny takes more pictures than she’d care to admit. 

—

The resort is nice. It’d looked nice online, and last night when they’d pulled up at four in the morning, but in the bright light of the day, it’s beautiful.

Matthew stops on the stairs leading down to the beach to take picture after picture. Johnny wants to chirp him so _bad_ —for the pictures, for the t-shirt he insisted on wearing with his swim trunks, for his fucking _straw hat_ —but she can’t. Not with the way he’s smiling at her like this is the best thing he’s ever seen.

“What a view, hey?” he says, elbowing her as they walk to the cabana she’d rented. There’s a smudge of sunscreen on his cheek.

“Pretty great,” she admits, setting her bag down on the sand next to the lounger. She brought books she’s been meaning to read. Not because she thinks she’ll actually read them, but because that’s like, what you’re supposed to do at the beach. 

They order breakfast, eating their weight in fruit and huevos rancheros (“I’m not _that_ picky,” she says when Chucky chirps her about whether or not she’ll actually eat that), before ordering a pitcher of margaritas. 

“Please tell me we’re gonna be trashed this whole trip,” Chucky says after they’ve finished their first pitcher.

“If I have it my way, this week will be a blur.”

“Fuckin’ perfect,” Matthew says, settling back on the lounger and pushing his sunglasses back over his eyes. 

Johnny thinks he’s asleep, which is partially why she feels comfortable pulling her cover-up off. 

When she’d pulled her swimsuit on this morning, she’d immediately regretted not packing a one-piece. Most of her good swimsuits were back home in Jersey, but she had one back in Calgary. It was modest enough, a black strapless thing, with cutouts on the side. Cute. 

It wasn’t what she packed.

In her rush, she’d thrown in three bikinis. All of them seemed way too small or revealing now. 

“Jesus, how’d you get into that?” Chucky asks.

Johnny’s head snaps to look over her shoulder. “Thought you were asleep.” 

“Thinking about it,” he says, sliding his sunglasses down to look her over. She feels naked. “Again, how’d you get into that?”

He points at her swimsuit, at all the little strappy pieces on the top.  

“Don’t worry about it,” Johnny says, before kicking her flip flops off. “Gonna go get in the water.”

“Try not to drown,” he mumbles, tilting his head back on the lounger and pushing his sunglasses back into place. 

_Fucking wish I could_ , she thinks, stomping down to the water.

—

The rest of the trip _is_ a blur. 

They drink all day and eat and Matthew gets a bad sunburn on his shoulders while playing volleyball with a group of college students.

Johnny has vague memories of making him take his shirt off that night so she could rub aloe across his red-hot shoulders. 

He hisses at the first touch of her hands, pulling away slightly.

“Hurts?” she asks.

“Cold,” he says, rolling out his shoulders, before settling back into the space between her thighs. 

She should’ve worn sweats.

She should’ve worn _ski pants_.  

Anything that would keep her from feeling the heat off his shoulders and arms against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.

This isn’t something Johnny needs right now. She’s got more beer and tequila coursing through her system than she’d care to admit, and it’s made her a little dumb.  

In any normal circumstance, she’d have picked up at least once by now, but she’d stupidly booked a suite for her and Matthew. The thought of bringing someone back to their room was not ideal.

So, she’s drunk and horny and Matthew’s big fucking body is splitting her legs wide open where he’s sitting on the floor in front of her and she can’t help but imagine what it’d be like if he just turned around, pulled her flimsy shorts to the side, and got his mouth on her.

She works the aloe into his shoulders with a little more force than is strictly necessary.

—

They livestream their last day.

They get _drunk_ and _livestream_ their last day in Cabo.

It’s not hot enough to sit out in the cabana, wind whipping across the beach and making it a little chilly. Matthew tells her she’s being weak, but Johnny likes to _bake_ on the sand. She’s Jersey, okay? That’s just the way she likes it.

Breakfast in the restaurant turns into drinks at the restaurant turns into lunch at the restaurant turns into doing shots with this couple from Miami.

She’s drunk. They’re both drunk.

It’s all Chucky’s fault.

He wants to send pictures to his brother and to Auston and some other guys he knows. But then he’s filming her.

“Say hiiiiiii,” he drawls.

“Hiiiiii,” Johnny says back, waving at the camera, assuming it’s just a video.

“Say hiiiii to all my followers.”

And, what?

Followers?

Johnny’s drunk brain buffers for all of five seconds before she says, “Are you livestreaming?” 

“Yup,” Matthew says, before handing Johnny the phone. She fumbles for it, fingers feeling numb. He’s spun the camera around again, giving Johnny—and the 150 people watching—an unfortunate front camera view of her face.

She double taps the screen before she can process how haggard she looks. She really could’ve done with more water this week. 

“Check this out,” Chucky says, before dabbing. 

“Do it again,” she says, watching as Chucky bows into several deep dabs, sunglasses slipping down his nose.

“Perfect,” she laughs, spinning the camera around, smiling wide.  

“What do y’all wanna see?” 

_ more dabs _  
_shots shots shots_  
_those tittiesssssssss_  
_do salt bae_

“Hey Chuck, do Salt Bae,” she says, flipping the camera around in time to catch Matthew doing an incredibly _stupid_ dance to whatever song is on the radio. His shirt has somehow managed to become almost all the way unbuttoned. If he stood up, she’d for sure see his belly button. Her drunk brain wants to see it, like, badly. 

“What?” he slurs, before saying, “Oh, right.”

He does a near perfect impression of Salt Bae, making Johnny laugh. She tries not to giggle as she films her own Salt Bae impression, but fails.

Johnny doesn’t remember when they end the stream, if it’s something she does on purpose or on accident. She just prays they didn’t save it to Matthew’s profile. God, that would be _tragic_. 

No one needs to see this in the bright, sober light of tomorrow. 

They stumble up to the room a little while later, collapsing together onto Johnny’s bed. She pretends it’s because she’s worried he’ll choke on his vomit in his sleep, but really she just wants him close. 

“Thanks for bringing me,” Chucky slurs, half asleep.

“Course. You’re my rookie.”

“M’Mony’s rookie.”

His eyes are closed now, lashes fanning out across his cheeks. Johnny wants to touch, to see how soft they are. Her eyes linger on the dimple in his chin. She briefly entertains what it’d be like to get her mouth on it, to lick over it.

“Mine too,” she whispers, rolling over onto her back and staring at the ceiling.

“Whatever you say, G,” he mumbles before passing out completely. 

—

Their first playoff game in Anaheim ends in a frustrating loss. Johnny’s not really interested in going out with the younger guys to drown her sorrows, but she tags along anyway, for company more than anything else. The thought of going back to an empty hotel room just seems so lonely and unappealing. She spends most of the night pressed in between Mony and Chucky, over-warm from the closeness of their bodies, but happy to be surrounded by her team.

“So, what do you look for?” Chucky asks her halfway through the evening. 

“What?” she asks. Her face feels hot and she knows she’s flushing from the alcohol and the weight of Chucky’s attention on her.

He leans in close, nose brushing up against her hair where it’s curling around her ears. She shivers when he whispers, “What kinds of guys do you pick up?”

Johnny rears back in her seat a little, feeling a bit surprised by his question. It’s been months since he caught her in Ottawa. She kind of assumed he’d forgotten by now, but the way he’s looking at her says the opposite is true.

He’s been thinking about this. For months.

She takes a sip of her drink, quirking a brow, and smirking at him from around her straw. “Why do you wanna know?”

He smiles at her, head propped up on his fist, elbow on the table. “Just been thinking about it. Only have one guy to go off. Not a great sample size.” 

Johnny hums, thinking of Felix, tall and slender with big hands and a wide mouth _. Missed opportunity_ , she thinks.

“So?” he asks, eyes sparkling in that way she knows means _trouble_. She sees it a lot on the ice. When he nudges her on the bench, whispering plans in her ear. When he skates up behind her, scheming. When he’s seconds from getting into it with another player. It sends a thrill through her. 

“What’s in it for me to tell you?”

Chucky sits up a little straighter, hand dropping away from his face. “Could help you, you know.”

She sighs. “Chucky…”

He waves his hand a little, interrupting her, “No—I mean, I could be your wingman.”

“My wingman.”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “I could help you pick up.”

Johnny huffs out a laugh. “Chucky, no offense, but I really don’t need any help.”

And she doesn’t. Johnny does _fine_ on her own. Sure, she’s not tall for a hockey player, but for a woman, she’s an above average height. She’s kind of leggy and a little willowy. She’s not _curvy_ , not like Sid or like Jack, but she’s got hockey ass and big doe eyes and that whole girl-next-door thing that guys seem to go crazy for. 

She does _fine_.

Johnny knows what she’s got and she knows how to work it. She doesn’t need a nineteen-year-old’s help.  

“Okay so just, humor me,” he says, trying his best to look magnanimous.

Johnny sighs, knowing there’s no way to get out of this. 

“Like, tall. I guess,” she says with a shrug.

“Wow, I can see him now, your dream man,” Chucky deadpans before rolling his eyes. “C’mon, Johnny, give me something.”

“Fine,” Johnny says, downing the rest of her drink before looking at him. “Tall, like. _Tall_. I like big hands. And uh, broad shoulders are a huge plus. Loud. Like, talks a lot since I’m not really a big talker?” Chucky’s nodding so Johnny keeps going. “Longer hair is good, but not a must.”

She stops for a moment, contemplating her next words carefully. Should she say this? Probably not, but what the hell, right? 

“He can’t be afraid to throw me around, you know? I’m a hockey player, I’m not gonna break.”

When she finishes, Chucky stares at her with this _intensity_ that she’s never seen before, but then he blinks and it’s gone. 

“Cool,” he says, voice cracking, before clearing his throat. “I can work with that.”

“Can you?” 

He nods. “Any other preferences?”

She shrugs. “Not really? It’s more of a vibe than a look that I’m going for.” 

“So, that guy could work?” He points across the bar to where a guy is standing. The man’s tall for sure, broad shoulders tapering down to a slim waist, big hands clutched around a bottle of beer. His dark, curly hair is pulled back into a bun. He’s wearing _glasses_ , god. 

“Yeah,” Johnny says on an exhale.

“Jesus, don’t cream your panties, Johnny.”

“ _Cream_ —Chucky, shut the fuck up, ugh.” She pushes her chair back from the table, drawing Mony’s attention. 

“Going somewhere?” She asks. Johnny nods at big-tall-and-handsome across the bar. Sean rolls her eyes at her. Of all the players on the team, Sean’s the only one who’s known about Johnny’s habits all along. 

“Be safe. Have fun,” she tells Johnny. It’s what Sean always tells her. Johnny ruffles Mony’s hair as she stands up.

Behind her, Chucky is right on her heels. 

“Can I help you?” she asks, spinning around to put a hand on his chest.

He stares down at it for a moment before looking up at her. “Just… thought I’d tag along.” 

Johnny all but stomps her foot. “ _Why_? I’m not angling for a threesome.”

Chucky chokes a little, but frowns down at her. “Can’t I just… listen in?” 

“Listen? Chucky…” 

He frowns at her more, pouting. “Fine,” she says eventually, letting him follow her across the room. She orders another drink, positioning herself next to the guy, while pushing Chucky a safe distance down the bar. 

When big-tall-and-handsome turns her way, she smiles at him, before taking a sip of her drink. She glances back over at him after a few moments to find him looking at her. _Got him_ , she thinks.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asks. Johnny hears Chucky’s muffled snort behind her. She holds her drink up to where big-tall-and-handsome can see it.

“I’m set there,” she says and he nods, “but you can get the next round?”

He smiles at her. “I’m Leo.”

“Johnny,” she says.

He quirks an eyebrow. “That short for anything?”

She hums. “Maybe. You?”

“Leonard,” he says, grimacing playfully. “My grandpa’s name.”

That’s her in. She asks him about his grandfather, learning that he was a carpenter from Arkansas, where Leo’s mother was born. Leo’s from Arizona, though, where his mother settled after college. He ended up in the area for work. He’s nice, Johnny thinks, if a bit safe and boring.

They talk for a while about his family, and then some about football, and then his job. Every time he tries to steer the conversation back to her, she asks him another question about himself.

“So what do you do?” he eventually asks.

“I’m a journalist,” she says. “I’m here covering the Stanley Cup playoffs.”

He sits up a little straighter. “That’s so cool. Are you based in California?”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m from New Jersey.”

He deflates a little.

“Do you follow hockey?” she asks. 

“Not at all,” he says on a laugh. “I know basically nothing.”

_Perfect_. 

They talk for a few more minutes before Johnny eventually leans in, placing her hand on his wrist where it’s resting on the bar. “Tell me if I’m reading this wrong, but do you wanna get out of here?” She looks up at him through her lashes, and watches as his pupils dilate. 

“Yes,” he says, twisting his wrist so he can fold her hand up in his. _God_ his hands are huge.

“I’m gonna go—” he gestures over his shoulder. Friends, she assumes. “But I’ll be right back.” 

She watches him as he walks off, before being spun around in her seat to look at Chucky. Johnny had almost forgotten that he was there.

“You lied to him.”

She shrugs. “I lie to all of them.”

“Why?”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not gonna just tell him who I am. ‘Oh, hi, I’m Johnny Hockey. Wanna come back to my hotel room and fuck my brains out?’” She makes a face at him, trying to let him know just how stupid he’s being. 

“Okay, I kind of see your point, but like. Do you use the same lie every time?”

“Yeah, kind of. I’m a journalist. Here on assignment. I have a boyfriend back home—”

“Boyfriend?” he asks, looking confused. 

“Yeah,” she shrugs. “If I’ve got a boyfriend, they usually leave without asking for my number. It’s easier that way.”

 “Jeez, Johnny. Didn’t think you had it in you,” he says. From anyone else, it might be praise, but from Chucky, it just sounds like disappointment.

She smiles at him, saccharine sweet, before leaning in and whispering into his ear, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Matthew.”

When Leo comes back just a few moments later, it’s easy for Johnny to trail close behind him as he walks out of the bar, fingers touching briefly as they leave. She feels Chucky’s eyes on her every step she takes as she makes her way across the room. 

— 

The thing is, Johnny is painfully aware of the awkward crush Chucky has on her. He’s not, like, obvious about it per se, but he’s not very good at hiding it either. He’s kind of followed her around like a lost puppy for a year now and it would be adorable if he weren’t 6’2”, loud, and cute in a way that Johnny knows means trouble. 

She kind of hates that she wants to find out just _how_ much trouble.  

She also kind of really hates how much Mony likes to tease her about Chucky.

“You’ve got a shadow,” Mony says one night when they’ve ended up at a party in some college kid’s basement in Detroit. Chucky knows some guys here through NTDP and had dragged Sean and her with him.  

(“It’s kinda fratty,” Chucky had explained when they arrived, like he had something to apologize for.

“I went to college, Chucky. Three years at BC. I’m good,” Johnny had said, before stealing Chucky’s hat off his head, putting it on backwards, and walking over to the keg.)

Johnny looks over her shoulder to see Chucky across the room. His eyes dart away as soon as they make eye contact. She sighs heavily when she looks back at Sean.

“Don’t,” she says before taking a long drink of her beer.

“You ever think about letting him get a little taste?” Mony asks waggling her eyebrows and flicking her tongue in a lewd gesture.

Johnny glares at her. “Ugh, don’t do that. And no.”

“Liar.”

Johnny grimaces, thinking back to Cabo and how close she’d come to just, fucking it all the way up. 

“He’s just a kid, Mony.”

“So was I,” she says. 

Johnny’s shoulders deflate. “Low blow, Sean.”

“Sorry,” she says, looking sheepish. “I know we don’t talk about it, but—” 

“And that’s how we should leave it,” Johnny sighs. “Look, we both agreed that—” 

“I know, that we each had an out if we met someone else,” she says, voice gone soft. “I just didn’t think that it would, you know—”

“I know.” They both sit quietly for a few moments, air heavy between them. She doesn’t know why they’re even talking about this, it’s ancient history. Something that Johnny refuses to poke or prod at—except for on her darkest, most lonely nights. 

“Help me do a keg stand?” Johnny asks, breaking the tension.

Mony’s smile could light up the room. “Hell yeah, let’s go.”

(Videos from Snapchat end up all over the internet by the next morning. Johnny in a hoodie and leggings, Chucky’s hat clutched in one hand as she braces herself over the keg, both of her ankles held easily in one of Mony’s hands.)

—

Johnny never meant to sleep with Mony. It just… kind of happened.

Sean had been so _nice_ to Johnny when she’d shown up in Calgary for a single game on the heels of winning the Hobey fucking Baker Award and it had all kind of gone to Johnny’s head. 

“That was a sick goal,” Mony said. 

Johnny had shrugged, checking the time on her phone to avoid meeting Sean’s eyes. Beautiful goal or not, they’d still lost. Johnny hadn’t done enough to help the team.

“And you’re the first chick to ever win the Hobey, right? That’s pretty cool, eh?” Sean said, elbowing Johnny.

She knew she was blushing, knew it was impossible to stop it once it had started.

“Thanks,” she said, looking up at Sean through her eyelashes. For a second, something flashed across Mony’s face—an emotion Johnny couldn’t decipher—didn’t _want_ to decipher.

Back then, Johnny still wore makeup and kept her hair long. It was thick and wavy and impossible, but it kept her safe. No one looked too closely at her back then, at how she looked at other girls. It was better, like that, she’d thought.

But Sean had looked at her for a single second and smiled and Johnny had given herself away, easy as that. 

When Mony dropped Johnny off at her hotel that night, she’d followed her up to her room where Sean proceeded to press Johnny up against the door and eat her out until Johnny’s fingers ached from how hard she was grasping at the door frame.

Johnny flew home to Boston the next morning, thinking about Sean’s hands and Sean’s lips and how soft the skin of her belly was and how badly Johnny wanted to taste her again.

“That Monahan, she’s a nice girl,” her mother had said once they’d settled down in their seats.

Johnny hummed. “Yeah, she’s great.” 

“But she’s, you know,” her mother’s mouth twisted, like it did when she cursed, before whispering, “gay.”

Johnny chewed on her lip and buried her hands beneath her thighs to keep herself from saying or doing anything stupid, like blurting out, _“Yeah, ma, she’s a fucking lesbian and she made me come three times last night.”_

“I think so,” Johnny said, instead. 

Her mother hummed. “It’s a shame. Such a pretty girl.”

Johnny’d stared out the window and watched as Calgary grew smaller and smaller. 

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Really pretty.” 

That fall, Sean had invited Johnny to stay with her until she figured out her living situation, taking pity on Johnny and the prospect of living out of suitcases in a hotel. Boumer was happy to welcome her in and didn’t blink when Johnny shared Sean’s bed. 

Johnny had felt a little guilty about that, knowing that Boumer thought that Johnny was just a little straight girl, bunking with a friend and teammate. He had no idea that when he went to bed at night, Johnny would slip her hands up Sean’s shirt, slip her tongue into Sean’s mouth. 

She thought, maybe, that things would change once she moved in with Josh. But on the road, Johnny kept crawling into bed with Mony. Sometimes just to cuddle, sometimes just to kiss. Most of the time, Johnny just wanted to be held down by Mony’s big body and fucked until she couldn’t feel her legs anymore. Sean was good for that. Really good. 

_Too_ good. 

From the beginning, they’d set boundaries.

“Hey, so like, what is this?” Sean had asked one night.

Johnny had lifted her head from Sean’s chest, chin resting on the soft skin between Mony’s breasts.

“What?”

“Like, what are we?” Mony asked and then pulled a face.

“Teammates?” Johnny tried, before frowning. “Friends?” 

Sean quirked an eyebrow. “You fuck all your friends?” she asked in a perfect, deep monotone. 

Johnny’d laughed, though it wasn’t funny. “Not usually.”

“So, I’m special?”

Johnny felt her expression go soft. Yeah. Yeah, Mony was special, but she didn’t need to know that, didn’t need to know _how_ special she was to Johnny.

“Something like that.”

“So… friends with benefits?” Sean had supplied after a few moments.

“Yeah,” Johnny’d nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

“And if either of us wants to end it for any reason, we can.” 

“Of course,” she’d agreed, though she didn’t mean it. 

“Especially if we meet someone we want to date,” Sean added. 

Johnny’s heart had thudded hard in her chest. “Duh,” she said.

Sean grinned at her, before pulling her up and kissing her lips. 

“Pinky promise?” Johnny asked, sticking out her pinky.

Sean laughed at her, but hooked her pinky around Johnny’s and squeezed. “Promise.”

When Mony met Britt that summer, Johnny hadn’t been _surprised_ , really. Britt was everything she wasn’t—tall and blonde and gorgeous and _out_.  

It hurt.

It still hurts.

—

She’s out for drinks with all of the women at the All-Star Game when Matthew texts her.

The women in the league get together so infrequently that they have a few rules for when they do meet up—one of which is that their phones are all either turned off or on do not disturb for the duration of their time together. Johnny has, unfortunately, forgotten. 

She cringes as the conversation at the table dies as soon as her phone buzzes where it’s facedown on the wood of the table.

“Who’s that?” Tyler asks, sipping on her cocktail, raising an eyebrow at her.

“No one,” Johnny says, pocketing her phone.

“Doesn’t look like no one,” Connor teases, poking at Johnny’s cheek where she can feel a blush blooming.

“Guys, come on, leave it…” Johnny begs.

There’s a chorus of protests and teases all around her and Johnny can’t help but look at Sid, praying that their fearless leader will overrule this interrogation. But all Sid does is shrug, exchanging conspiratorial glances with Flower.

Johnny groans. “Fine. It’s Chuck.”

“Chuck, like, _Chucky_?” Jack asks.

“Who?” Claude asks. 

“Matthew Tkachuk,” Jack says, before steamrolling on, “Hang on, are you _sleeping_ with him?”

 She looks _thrilled_ by this new development, like she can’t wait to jump all over it. 

Johnny chokes on the beer she’s been trying to drink. “ _No_.”

“So why’s he texting you after midnight?” Tyler asks.

“It’s not that late in Calgary,” Johnny argues. “And, I don’t know, I didn’t read the message.”

Once again, a chorus of voices springs up around her, this time begging her to read the message. Johnny has no choice other than to acquiesce.

What Matthew has sent her is a link, newly posted she assumes, to her portion of the Puck Control Relay.

**tkachuky cheese party** 😜  
_<https://youtu.be/vM9-zZqXUIw?t=57>_  
👀😳💰  
_holy shit johnny that was so sexy_

Sexy.

Johnny wants to _die_. All the women around her are waiting for her to read it aloud to them and all she can do is stare at the screen, clutching her phone so tight her knuckles turn white. 

“Well?” Claude asks, sounding bored.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, give it,” Jack says before ripping it from her fingers. She stares at the screen for a moment, looking up at Johnny, before her face breaks out into a grin.

“Awww, Johnny, Chucky’s got a _crush_.”

They all clamor to get a look at Johnny’s phone, reading Matthew’s text before passing it on to the next woman.

“That’s just too good, John, I’m sorry,” Jack says once Johnny’s phone is safe back in her hands. 

Johnny grunts in reply, pocketing her phone and chugging her beer.

“Don’t be like that, Johnny,” Tyler pouts. “You know we’re on your side.”

“And what side is that?” she asks.

“Who amongst us _hasn’t_ slept with a teammate, right ladies?” There are nods around the table. Sid looks like she might protest, but Flower gives her a _look_ and that dies pretty quickly. 

“I’m not sleeping with him.”

“But you’ve thought about it, right? Please tell me you’ve thought about it?” Segs is looking at her now, all but pleading.

Johnny glares, but can’t hold it for long, and then all the women around the table are goading her for details.

“He’s like, really big right?”

“Kind of, but not like, _big_ big.”

“I mean, Johnny’s kind of small so…”

“He’s such a little shit on the ice.”

“Guys like that usually like girls who can be rough. Is that something you can handle, John?”

Johnny spaces out as they continue to talk about Chucky before they move on to other topics, all but forgetting about Johnny and her situation. She slips away a while later, going back to her hotel room on her own.

After she’s in bed she pulls her phone out, staring at Chucky’s text from earlier. The word “sexy” stares back at her.

_sexy?_ she texts back.

_so fucking sexy_ she receives almost instantly.

Johnny shoves her phone under her pillow and shuts her eyes, begging for sleep to take over. It doesn’t. She stares at the ceiling and says a silent, pitiful prayer. 

_ Oh Lord, please give me the strength to not give into the temptation of Matthew Tkachuk and his big, dumb mouth. _

— 

Johnny’s not sure when the handholding starts.

She just knows it starts. 

She thinks it goes something like this:

 Johnny’s following Chucky down the tunnel, like usual. Only, this time, she stumbles on the carpet, catching her skate or just losing her balance. On instinct, Chucky reaches back for her, grabbing her hand. 

“You good?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she breathes out, heart hammering. He nods once, before continuing down the hall, Johnny’s hand still held in his. 

He scores that night.

“So,” Chucky starts after the game. He’s following her out to her car, completely uninvited. “We gotta keep holding hands.”

“What?” she asks, having forgotten entirely.

“Hold hands. Down the tunnel. Gotta keep doing that.”

She stops in the middle of the hall, causing Chucky to bump into her. 

“Absolutely not.”

“ _Please_.”

“No.”

“But I _scored_.”

Johnny doesn’t want to give in. She doesn’t. She thinks about the like, optics, or whatever. What people would say if they saw Matthew _holding her hand_. She makes the mistake of looking up at him. He’s pouting, lip pushed all the way out, like he does sometimes in interviews when he’s feeling like a little shit. 

“Fine.” 

Chucky fist pumps.

“But only until you stop scoring.”

“Totally, absolutely,” he says, following her out of the arena, skipping at her heels like a puppy. 

He doesn’t stop scoring.

In fact, he goes on a point streak, which only serves to frustrate Johnny more, because now she has to see his stupid smug smile when he turns around to grab her hand as they walk down the hall.  

Before one afternoon game, he reaches for her hand, like usual, but this time he pulls it to his mouth, kissing her glove twice in quick succession.

“What the fuck was that for?” she asks, heart pounding in her chest. She couldn’t _feel_ his lips, not through her glove, but she could feel the pressure of his mouth, and that was more than enough. 

“For luck,” he says, smiling his gappy smile at her. “Gotta give you something extra so you can score too.”

It fucking works. She walks out of the game with three points and a clenched fist, frustrated by this new development.

And if she picks up that night, and fucks her frustrations away while pointedly not thinking about the weight of Matthew’s hand on hers, or the shine of spit on his lips in the light of the tunnel, well, that’s her business.

—

Johnny watches the draft for the first time in ages. She tells herself it’s because she’s invested now, more than ever in who Calgary gets.

But she knows it’s more for the thrill that shoots through her at the glimpses she gets of Matthew and the rest of the Tkachuks. The way he’s so loose and casual and _comfortable_ with his family, how he beams when he talks about them, how _proud_ he is of Brady.

_congrats to chucky #2_ she texts him that night 

**tkachuky cheese party** 😜  
_i’m still your favorite tho right_ 😔

**johnny**  
_of course_  
_still chucky #1_

 **tkachuky cheese party** 😜  
_good_ 😤  
_i’ll tell him_

And then, much later:

_ miss u _

Johnny’s heart races when she reads it and she falls asleep with her phone clutched in her hand.

—

There’s something different about Matthew when training camp starts. He seems more settled in himself, in who he is as a player, and as a member of the team. Having missed a chunk of the latter part of the season made his summer really, _really_ long. Breaks like that, when you have nothing but time to think and train, can do a lot to humble a player. She wonders if that’s what’s happened with Matthew.

They’re at Gio’s place for a cookout—a chance to get back together after the end of the summer, to catch up, and to meet the new players. She’s met Noah a handful of times before, enough to know that she likes him. He seems a little different now, a little happier, more buoyant. She’s not sure if it’s the new city or the new contract or being reunited with Chucky, but whatever it is, she hopes it lasts. 

Chucky is… Chucky. He spots her as soon as she walks in, slow smile spreading across his face. They’d texted over the summer, per usual, but nothing beats seeing him in person. 

He looks… good. Bigger, if that’s possible. She watches as he says something to Noah and makes his way to her across the lawn. 

“Hey,” he says to her on an exhale. She smiles up at him, sun getting in her eyes, but she can see how he’s smiling back at her, big and gappy and _perfect_. It’s easy to let him wrap her up in his arms, hugging her tight to his body. Her face presses into his chest and she can smell his laundry detergent and the body wash he uses. Johnny can feel the shiver that wants to roll through her body, but she suppresses it. 

“Hi,” she says into his chest. She feels his arms tighten around her, feels his face press into the crown of her head, before he pulls back. “How’s the head?” 

She wants to touch him, to reach out and brush the curl hanging over his forehead, to feel where the hair is buzzed short at his temples. 

“Better, yeah. A lot better.” 

“You look good,” he says, looking her over. She raises her eyebrows, looking down at her black t-shirt, denim shorts, and Gucci slides, before looking back up at him. 

“You’re, uh, tan. More tan. And like, did you put some muscle on?” He gestures at her, like, entire body, biting his lip like he wishes he could shut himself the fuck up.

“Uh, yeah, I guess, some? Just, you know, getting ready for the season.”

He nods too much, too fast. “Mm, yeah. It’s, uh. Good.”  

“Uh, yeah, you too,” she says, squeezing his bicep once before shoving her hands in her pockets. God, she would cut them off and call it a career if it would keep her from doing whatever the hell _that_ was again. 

There’s a flush high on his cheeks when she looks at him again. For a brief, infuriating moment, she wonders if he’s a full-body flusher.  

“Drink?” he asks, interrupting her train of thought.

She nods. Anything to distract herself from saying or doing anything else that could potentially cause her to humiliate herself. 

He grabs a couple of beers from a cooler that’s propped open on the patio, opening them with quick efficiency before handing one to Johnny. His fingers brush hers when he hands it over, a move _so_ obvious that it could be seen from space. Still kind of works, though, and Johnny’s a little mad about it.

She takes her beer and heads over to where Sean and Sam are sitting, settling between them as she watches Chucky make his way back over to Hanifin. 

“Good summer?” Sam asks. 

“Mmhmm,” she says, as she takes a long pull from her beer. “Missed you guys though.”

“I can see that,” Sean says, looking at her before looking at Chucky, who’s looking back. They nod at each other. 

“Don’t start,” she says. Sean laughs, putting her arm around Johnny and squeezing.

—

The China trip feels a bit like summer camp. This far from home, they have nothing to do but to lean on each other, sticking together in tight little clusters. Most of their days are planned out for them, group meals and outings taking up all the time not spent practicing and training. 

They climb the Great Wall as a team, laughing and taking pictures as they ride gondolas up to the top.  

They spend hours walking around, buying overpriced souvenirs and hats. Mony shoves a panda hat on Johnny’s head, and smiles so big at her that Johnny doesn’t have the heart to take it off.

“I’m so fucking tired,” Johnny whines late in the afternoon. She’s leaning against the wall next to Matthew, who’s filming the view. 

“Piggyback ride?” he offers, not looking away from the screen.

“God, _yes_ ,” she says.  

Regrettably, she didn’t think this through at all. 

She didn’t consider it beyond the fact that she was going to get carried down the wall. 

She didn’t think about the way she’d be able to feel every single muscle in Matthew’s shoulders under her hands. Or the heat of his body spreading through her. Or the way his hands would feel wrapped around her bare thighs, exposed where her shorts rode up. 

And certainly not the way she’d be able to smell his hair or cologne or the way he’d feel rubbing up against her. 

She’s embarrassingly wet by the time he sets her down. She thanks God and her ancestors and Levi Strauss for putting jeans out into the ether, because there’s no way he can tell. Not through the thick denim of her cutoffs. 

She counts her blessings.

—

One evening, after a team dinner, some of the younger guys make their way to a nearby bar. With the first game of the pre-season coming up soon, no one drinks too much, but admittedly, Johnny is something of a lightweight. After a few drinks, she’s feeling loose and tipsy, swaying into Mony and Benny. Down the bar, Chucky is plastered to Hanny’s side, laughing at whatever Noah is whispering into his ear. For a moment, Johnny feels stupidly jealous, before pushing down on it. She takes a long pull from her drink, looking up only to find Chucky’s gaze on her, intense and pointed.

“Be right back,” she tells Mony, but she’s not really paying attention to Johnny. She passes Chucky on the way to the bathroom and feels his eyes on her the whole way. Inside, she presses herself up against the door for a moment, taking a deep breath, before going to stand over the sink.

“Get it together,” she tells her reflection. It stares back at her, unhelpfully, looking a little glassy-eyed and more on the sweaty side of dewy. She sighs, washing her hands for something to do, before walking back over to the door and out into the hallway.

She runs into Chucky almost immediately. 

“Hi?” she asks. He’s standing very close, looking down at her and breathing her air.

“Is there anyone in there?” he asks. 

“No, why?” 

He doesn’t answer, instead, he pushes her through the door, before spinning her around and pressing her back into it.

“Hey—” she starts to say, but when she looks up at him, the expression on his face makes her close her mouth with an audible click.

“Tell me you don’t want it.” 

“What?”

“C’mon, Johnny, you know what I’m talking about.” He reaches up and brushes a loose strand of hair back, tucking it behind her ear. His thumb catches on the soft hair behind her ear where her hair stops and her undercut begins. She shivers.

In that moment, years of repressed sexual tension floods through her, hitting her straight in her chest. She can’t breathe with how much she wants him, heart beating in her throat, blood rushing in her ears.

“We can’t,” she says, “you’re—”

“Not a rookie anymore,” he says, smiling at her.

She remembers, briefly, what she’d told him in Ottawa, almost two years earlier.  

 _“Get a little more experience under your belt and come back to me.”_  

She lets out a frustrated sigh, letting her head fall forward into his chest where he’s pressed in close to her. His hand finds the back of her head, cradling it easily in his big hand. She feels his fingers twisting around the sloppy ponytail she’s thrown her hair into, fingers working in and out of the short strands. 

“Okay,” she exhales more than says.

“Yeah?” he asks, using the hand he has wrapped around her ponytail to pull her head back so he can look her in the eyes.

“Yeah.”

“Can I kiss you now?” he asks, lisping a little when he says ‘kiss’, and she can’t help but smile big before nodding. 

He moves into her space slowly, hand trailing up her neck to cup her jaw. Johnny can’t help but hold her breath. His forehead touches hers, noses brushing. He stays like that for a moment, holding still, like he’s steeling himself. She feels him exhale shakily a second before his lips touch hers.

Her first thought is that Matthew’s lips are incredibly soft for a hockey player. Her second is that he _really_ knows what he’s doing. He kisses her slowly, softly, thumbing at the hinge of her jaw. She’d expected for him to be all teenage excitement and eagerness. She’s delighted to find that she couldn’t be more wrong. He runs his tongue across the seam of her lips slowly before sliding into her mouth when she opens for him. She moans quietly at the first touch of his tongue to hers. He tastes like cherries and vodka and she wonders what the _fuck_ he was drinking and thinks that, if pressed, she never wants to taste anything else for the rest of her life.  

When he pulls back from her, he rests his forehead against hers, breathing into the space between them. 

“Come back to the hotel with me?” he asks. She nods, surging up on her toes to press a kiss to his mouth, before turning to the door and walking out into the hall. They make their way back over to the bar, Chucky a solid presence along her back the whole time.

“Gonna turn in,” she tells Mony when she gets back over to her. 

“I’ll walk you,” Sean offers, finishing her drink quickly. 

Johnny makes an abortive movement with her hands, shaking her head. “You don’t have to.”

Sean rolls her eyes. “Not letting you walk back alone.”

Johnny shakes her head again, thumbing over her shoulder. “Chucky said he’d take me.”

“Bet he did,” Sean mumbles, looking at Chucky over her shoulder where she assumes he’s talking to Hanny.

“Don’t be like that,” Johnny says, squeezing her hand. She frowns.

“Be safe. Have fun,” Sean says, looking at her knowingly. 

“Sean—” she starts to whine, but then Chucky’s at her side.

“Ready?” he asks. Johnny nods, grabbing her jacket, and following him out.

—

The ride back to the hotel is quiet. She half expects Chucky to make a move on her and is disappointed when he doesn’t. They’re in a foreign country, somewhere no one will recognize them, and he’s not getting up on her in this cab. It’s tragic, really.

“Fuck this,” she mumbles before unbuckling her seatbelt, scooting across the backseat and into his lap.

Johnny thinks he tries to say her name, but her mouth is on his before he can get it out. Her hands find his hair easily, knitting into the curls, and tilting his head back. She bites at his lower lip, dragging it between her teeth, before pressing a firm kiss to his mouth. He moans into it, hands grasping her hips, and pulling her close. 

Chucky feels so _big_ and he’s _everywhere_ and Johnny can’t believe she held out for this long. Her hips ache where they’re spread wide across his thighs, one knee pressing into the door of the car, the other hitting the seat belt clip. She grinds down onto him, testing the waters, half surprised to find him hard.

“Already?” she asks.

“I’m twenty, give me a break,” he says before kissing down her neck. He pulls the collar of her t-shirt down, sucking at her collarbone.

“No marks,” she warns. He whines. “Chucky…” 

“Fine,” he says, but presses his teeth down anyway—a promise or a tease, she isn’t sure—before working his way up her neck to kiss her again.

—

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” Chucky says as soon as the door to Johnny’s room closes behind them. He’s on her in an instant, pressing her back into the wall before looping his hands under her thighs and lifting her up.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Johnny says, air rushing out of her lungs. She crosses her legs at the ankles and plants her hands on his shoulders, stabilizing herself. 

“You said you liked big,” he says, smirking up at her.

“I do,” she nods. His grin is positively shit-eating and it’s kind of hot. Her lips find his, kissing him as his hands trail up and down her thighs. Johnny can feel how wet she is already, from kissing and from years worth of building up to this. She grabs his hand and drags it across her thigh, between her legs, and presses it to where she knows she’s hot and slick and so ready. 

He hisses and mumbles something into her mouth, but she misses it, ears having gone all cottony from the sheer relief of having him pressing on her through two layers of clothing.

“Bed,” she mutters, and within moments he’s got her on it. She sits up and watches as he strips his shirt off, pulling it up over his head, all sexy and one-handed. His hands settle on his belt next, looking at her for a moment, before unbuckling it slowly. She wonders what he sees when he looks at her. Her, sitting on the bed, leaning back on her palms, wearing a t-shirt and leggings like she does ninety percent of the time, hair thrown up into a ponytail or messy bun. Does he like it? How little she cares?

His pants hit the floor next to his t-shirt and then he’s standing in front of her in nothing but his boxers, dick a hard, thick line against the fabric. Her mouth _waters_ , lips parting as she looks at it. 

She sits up straight as she stares and she hears him chuckle at her. Johnny can’t even be mad. She’s _transfixed_. 

A part of her wants to whine and make a “gimme” motion until he gets up _on her_ , but she’s a grown ass woman. She looks up at him instead and falls back onto her elbows, spreading her thighs on the mattress. His gaze goes molten, dropping to his knees on the mattress and crawling over her. 

Matthew’s hands find her hair again, fingers wrapping around her hair tie, gently pulling until her hair slips loose, falling around her chin and shoulders. She watches as he flexes his hand once, band slipping easily onto his wrist.

“Better,” he says, before plunging his hands into it, pulling her up slightly to kiss her. 

Johnny’s hands wrap around his back, fingers brushing the soft skin between his shoulder blades, before dragging them down to settle on the curve of his ass. 

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he says against her lips. 

“So do something about it.” 

His eyes sparkle when he pushes up on his hands to look at her. He kisses her again, before sitting up all the way, taking her shirt in his hands, and pushing it up her ribs and then over her head. 

She hears him suck in a breath the moment her shirt is gone.

“No bra?” He looks dumbfounded, mouth slack and eyelids heavy.

“Not if I can help it,” she says. Johnny’s kind of small-chested and doesn’t really see the point in wearing a bra. She doesn’t fool with it most of the time.

Matthew swears under his breath, ducking down to press a line of kisses from her jaw, down her neck, and between her breasts, before finally taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking. She fists her hand in his hair, holding him there as he mouths at her. 

“I’m never going to be able to look at you in public the same way,” he says, forehead pressed to her sternum. “Just walking around all the time with no bra on. _Fuck_.”

She laughs, running her hands through his hair. “It’s just a bra.”

“That’s what you think,” he says, looking up at her through his pretty eyelashes, chin pressed into her chest. He looks so good she has to shut her eyes for a moment. When she opens them again, he’s looking up at her, curiosity written all over his face. 

“Still good?” he asks.

Johnny hums and brushes his hair back from his forehead. “Keep going.”

He smirks a little, pressing a kiss to the underside of each of her breasts before trailing a line of kisses down her ribs and abdomen to the waist of her leggings. He thumbs at the band, looking down at his hands where they’re circling her waist, before looking up at her.

“God, you’re so tiny,” he says.

She frowns. “I’m not.”

“No, I mean—” He shakes his head. “You’re not short for like, regular people. But like, you’re—” his hands grip her waist, thumbs almost meeting in the middle over her navel. 

“Petite?” she offers.

“Yeah,” he says, sighing. There’s a flush high on his cheeks again. This time when she wonders if he’s a full-body flusher, she’s not mad at herself for thinking it.

“Get them off,” she says, pressing one of her feet to his thigh, pushing gently. His hand wraps around her ankle easily, pushing her leg back towards her, knee hitting her chest. Her breath rushes out of her quickly, and when she looks up at him, she feels herself go hot all over. 

Her leggings come off easily, Chucky pulling them down her hips and over her thighs before chucking them over his shoulder onto the floor. Her underwear goes next, tossed across the room too. 

And then he’s sliding down the bed, settling between her thighs and shouldering them open. _Finally_ , she thinks, as he kisses her inner thigh, stubble rough against her skin, but mouth hot and wet and so velvety. She throws her head back at the first touch of his tongue to her, sliding up over her, parting her folds and dipping, briefly, inside.

_Fuck yes_ , she thinks, hands gripping the sheets, steadying herself, and then—

Then everything kind of goes off the rails. 

It’s not that Chucky’s _bad_ , but he’s also not _good_.

He’s eager, _god_ , is he eager—mouth working over her—but… 

Have you ever seen a pie eating contest? Where the contestants hold their hands behind their backs, eating the pie with nothing but their mouths, rooting around in the crust to get as much filing as they can? 

It’s like that.

She wonders how often he’s had an opportunity to go down on girls. Before being in the show, he was in the OHL. She’s sure he’s had girlfriends and hook-ups, but if they were all his age, they may not have known any better, or they just may not have known how to _ask_ for, well, more. 

Johnny threads her fingers through his hair, pulling once to get his attention. When he looks up at her, _he_ looks fucked out, face flushed, eyes glassy, mouth so wet. 

“Come up here,” she says, guiding him up to her.

His mouth is slick when he kisses her and she can taste herself on his lips. She shivers, pressing her tongue against his.

“You like that?” he asks, voice gone rough.

She nods. “You should fuck me.” 

“Fuck, Johnny. Okay, yeah,” he says, getting off the bed to grab a condom from his pocket, shucking his boxers while he’s up. He rolls the condom on quickly, before shuffling up the bed to her.

“Hi,” he says, pressing a kiss to her lips before reaching to push her legs up around him. Between them, she can see how flushed and hard his dick is, red at the tip, and so, _so_ thick. She wants him in her, like, yesterday. 

Johnny reaches down, wrapping her hand around him, and stroking a few times. He feels good in her hand and part of her wants to just jerk him off until he comes all over her belly. It’s a tempting thought, but one for another day. 

She guides him closer until he bumps against her, before he pushes forward and sinks into her. Chucky presses his forehead to hers, fingers flexing on her thighs, as they adjust.

“C’mon,” she says, crossing her legs behind his back and pulling him further into her.

His hands flex on her thighs again, squeezing a little tightly, before he pulls back, thrusting in slowly, trying to find a rhythm. 

His technique isn’t, like, blowing her mind or anything, but he’s thick and she’s turned on, and it’s kind of working for her. She’s not close, but she can get there if he just keeps this up for a little while longer. 

But she can feel his arms shaking on either side of her, can feel the way his thrusts are getting more and more erratic, and between one breath and the next, he’s coming. His head drops to her collarbone as he thrusts into her a few times, lazily riding his orgasm out while she strokes his hair. For a moment, she thinks that if she snakes her hand between them she might be able to get off while he’s still inside her, but then he’s pulling out and flopping down next to her. She feels him get up to throw the condom away, before he settles back down on the mattress. 

Her thighs press together on instinct, desperately seeking some sort of friction, some kind of relief. She moans a little, frustrated and so fucking turned on it hurts. Her clit throbs and her pussy _aches_ , and she’s going to have to get herself off, which _sucks_. 

The room is quiet, save for Chucky’s heavy breathing and the humming of the hotel air conditioning. 

She’s not expecting it when Matthew stirs next to her and asks, “Was that good for you?”

And Johnny is so damn pissed off that he even _has_ to ask. She snaps.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” 

She feels him go stiff next to her, body held tense as he leans up and into her line of vision.  

“Listen, I know I came way too fast but—” 

“ _Jesus_ , Chucky, that’s not even the biggest problem we have here. I don’t care if you come fast, but you didn’t get me off at _all_.”

He looks a little confused, brows knit together. “Wait, like, not even when I went down on you?” 

Johnny covers her face with her hands and groans. “Especially not when you went down on me.”

Chucky makes an alarmed noise. “But… girls love it when I go down on them.”

“No,” she says, dragging her hands down her face, “they don’t.”

“What, so like, you’re saying that girls have been lying to me?” he asks, like it’s a gotcha.

“Yes,” Johnny deadpans.

Chucky scrambles up on his knees, looking defensive, and like he’s ready to argue his case, but then he looks down at Johnny, at where she’s spread across her hotel room bed, and deflates. 

“I can try again?” he offers. “I can go again, like, really, really soon.”

“Tempting offer, but no,” Johnny says, sitting up. She reaches for her t-shirt on the floor, throwing it over her head before getting up and looking for her underwear.

“But you didn’t get off.” He looks guilty, and really embarrassed when she glances at him. His face is bright red, flush spreading down his neck, and chest. _Full-body flusher_ , she thinks, disappointment flooding through her. She hates that this is how she found out.

“It’s okay, Chuck, I’ll take care of it.”

He’s off the bed and standing next to her in an instant. “Listen, Johnny. John. G. I’ve wanted this for so long and I blew it and I—please let me make it up to you.” 

His expression is so _earnest_ and he’s puppy-dog eager and it’s so cute that Johnny almost says yes. 

Almost. 

“No, Chucky,” she says, pulling her underwear back on. “I think you should go.”

He deflates again, shoulders curling in, making him look small. She watches as he gets dressed, grabs his shoes and slips out into the hallway. 

When the door clicks shut behind him, she throws herself onto the bed, and yells into the nearest pillow. Her hand slips down between her body and the mattress, thumbing at her clit until she comes, orgasm as disappointing and lackluster as she expected it to be. Between one breath and the next, she’s asleep.

—

In the morning, Johnny wants so badly for time travel to be real. She wants nothing more than to be able to go back to last night and do things differently. She’d hide out in the bathroom stall, wait for herself to come in, grab herself by the shoulders and say: “Bitch, don’t fucking do it!” 

But time travel isn’t real, and even if it was, that would create a fucked up paradox, and she can’t do that. 

Her phone is on the nightstand, near death from not being plugged in last night. She has a text from Gio, a text from her mom, and a text from Sean.

**$ean Moneybags**  
_not sure what happened last night, but i just walked in on chuck doing the saddest reps on the bench press_

Johnny squeezes the bridge of her nose. She can’t handle this right now. She plugs her phone in, and goes to take a shower. 

The hotel they’re staying at is nice—nice enough to have one of those fancy rainfall shower heads that she desperately wants for her own shower. She gets lost in it, having all kinds of unfortunate shower thoughts. 

Thoughts about Chucky’s hands and his mouth and how it would feel to have him pressed up behind her right now, soapy hands running all over her body…

Part of her is glad that Chucky’s upset. He should be. His performance last night was _abysmal_. 

Johnny wished she could call it selfish, but she couldn’t. It hadn’t been. He’d tried his best to get her off, he just… didn’t have the range. 

She could fix that.

As soon as the thought enters her brain, she regrets it. She’s never really been one to teach people how to fuck her right; then again, she’d never really had her hookups last more than a couple of weeks at a time. Most of the guys she took home could fuck her stupid, no problem, and the ones who couldn’t—well, she never spoke to them again.

Even after the horror show that was last night’s hookup, she still kind of wanted Chucky. Sure, he lacked skill when it came to actual sex, but the build up? It was there. He was enthusiastic, and sexy, and he had _moves_. The foundation was there even if the house was a goddamn disaster.

When she gets out, she has another text from Gio, telling her to get her ass down to breakfast, and one from Chucky.

**tkachuky cheese party** 😜  
_about last night_  
_i’m really sorry_  
_please let me make it up to you_

Johnny wrings the water out of her hair, before drying off her body, wrapping herself up in a fancy hotel robe. She sighs, picking up her phone again and staring at Matthew’s text. 

She’s going to fuck him again. Her resolve is too weak and his mouth is going to get them both into trouble. 

So... she was doing this.  

She was going to give Chucky sex lessons.  

_meet me in the lobby in five_ she texts him, before quickly getting dressed, pulling on a pair of sweats, another t-shirt, and leaving her hair down to air dry.

Chucky’s leaning up against a pillar when she gets to the lobby, but he stands up straight immediately upon seeing her. 

“Walk with me,” she says, breezing past him and not giving him a chance to say anything. “I’ve been thinking about last night—” 

“I’m so sorry, I—”

“Shut up,” she says. His mouth snaps shut instantly. “I’m going to offer something and I’m only going to offer it once. Understand?”

He nods quickly, agreeing. 

“I have a lot of experience with sex and hooking up. You… have less.” He looks like he might argue, but she glares at him. His gaze snaps immediately to the floor, cheeks flushing, before nodding. “That’s what I thought.” She exhales before continuing. “I could give you some pointers, if you want.” 

“Pointers?” he asks once they’ve made it to the conference room where the team’s having breakfast. Elias walks past them, nodding at them both before entering the room. Johnny leans up against the wall, hands behind her back. 

“Lessons,” she offers.

“Like… sex lessons?” he asks.

She nods. “Exactly.”

He frowns a little.

“You’re eager, and enthusiastic, and that counts for a lot, but...”

He frowns more, lip visibly poking out. 

“And this is… hands on?” he asks.

Johnny wants to roll her eyes, but doesn’t. “Yeah, of course.”

“So, like. More sex. With you?” 

“Yes, dumbass.” 

“I’m in,” he says, leaning into her space. 

“Not here,” she hisses, pushing him back.

He smirks at her, looking around before saying, “First rule of sex club: no talking about sex club.”

“I can’t fucking stand you,” she says, laughing as she walks into breakfast, Chucky close behind her.

—

They lose in shootouts to the Bruins. She wouldn’t say it’s a crushing defeat, having outplayed them for much of the second half and well into overtime. But a loss is a loss, and while the team is buzzing from having _finally_ started to click, it’s bittersweet. 

Some of the guys are angling to get drinks and dinner, but Johnny just wants to go back to the hotel, order some room service, get into a bath, and just _stew_ for ages. 

Chucky slips into the seat next to her on the bus, eyeing Sean as she walks by, some kind of weird macho square off. Matthew wins, she guesses, because Mony nods once before continuing up the aisle.

“So...” he says, hand finding her knee.

She slaps it off. “Are you kidding me? Not here.”

He pouts.

“Can I come to yours?” he asks.

“No, I have plans.”

“What _plans_? We’re in China.”

“Yeah? And my plans are to order whatever junk food the hotel has to offer and then take the world’s longest bubble bath.”

He’s quiet for a moment before saying, “Can I join you?”

“In the bath?” she asks.

“I mean… yeah.” She glares at him. “Or, I could just, like, watch?”

“Are you a voyeur, Chucky?” she asks, teasing. “First you want to watch me pick up. Now you want to watch me eat and take a bath.”

His face flames.

“No, I—I just thought—I—”

She laughs, hand slipping over her mouth to keep from being too loud on the bus. 

“I’m only teasing, Chuck,” she says. “But yeah, sure. You can watch.”

—

Back at the hotel, Johnny is relieved to find that they have a hamburger on the menu, which she manages to order without sobbing down the phone. Chucky orders something that Johnny’s never heard of before. 

They watch an episode of _The OC_ while they wait, carefully _not_ talking about what it is that they’re doing. When the food arrives, Chucky answers the door, greeting them in Chinese. Johnny raises a brow at him and he looks over at her and shrugs, moving out of the way so the tray of food can be pushed in. She all but dives in as soon as the door is closed, devouring her burger. Chucky watches her apprehensively.

“Do you stop for air, or do you just inhale it?” he asks. She sticks her tongue out at him, before flipping him off. 

“I’m gonna go get in the tub. Bring those when you’re done,” she says, pointing at the plate of fries.

She leaves the door open as she draws a bath, waiting until the tub is mostly full to pour in a bottle of bubble bath she’d gotten from a market the other day. She strips quickly, leaving her clothes in a pile on the floor, before slipping into the water. When Chucky appears in the doorway a short time later, he stands for a moment, taking her in, before walking over to the side of the tub and sitting on the floor next to it. 

“Here,” he says, offering her the plate of fries. 

“My hands are all soapy,” she whines, pushing on the edge of the plate with one, bubble-covered hand.

“Fine,” Chucky sighs heavily, then picks up a fry and holds it out for her.

She stares at him and at the fry, a silent offering, before leaning forward and letting him put it in her mouth. They go on like that for a while, Chucky feeding her fries and eating a few himself, before Johnny tires of it.

“Are you going to get in?” she asks.

“Did you want me to?” he asks, brows knit together.

“I mean, sure,” she says, “might as well start lessons now.”

He sucks in a breath, before nodding and standing up off the floor. He puts the mostly empty plate on the counter, stripping quickly, and leaving his clothes in a pile next to Johnny’s. He looks self-conscious for a second, standing there naked in front of her, lights bright, dick soft. His body is nice, she thinks. He’s not particularly cut like some of the guys she’s played with before, definitely not cut the way some of the guys she’s hooked up with are. She knows more than most that definition doesn’t equal strength, and looking at Chucky’s body, she knows how strong he is. Her gaze rests on his thick thighs for a particularly long moment and at his ass reflected in the mirror, before she looks at his face, smiling, and tilting her head at the tub.

“C’mon,” she says, watching as he steps into the water slowly, testing the temperature, before sinking into it. The tub is relatively big for a hotel, with the faucet in the middle, but it’s still a tight squeeze with both of them in it. Chucky’s legs fall on either side of her body, feet tucked up next to her hips. His hands find her feet under the water, rubbing them gently, before settling on her ankles.

“This is nice,” he says after a few quiet minutes. 

She hums in agreement, tilting her head back against the tiles and closing her eyes. 

Johnny knows that she could sit like this until all the bubbles vanished, until the water goes cold, and be content. She thinks Matthew could, too. She’s not sure she wants to find out for sure.

She raises up in the tub, water sloshing around her as she gets up onto her knees, and edges over to his side. 

“Hi,” she says, quietly, before straddling his thighs. His body is warm and thick under hers, thighs tensed to keep himself upright in the tub. He feels _strong_. Johnny’s mouth waters.

“Hi,” he replies, a moment before she kisses him. 

On her knees, she’s taller than him, leaning over as he slides down further into the water. Matthew’s hands slide over her skin, down her arms, across her back, before settling on her ass, cupping it and squeezing. She moans into the kiss, rutting against him. Behind her, she can tell Chucky’s hard, cock bumping against her ass as she rubs against his abdomen. She feels so warm and syrupy and molten at her core and she just wants _more_.

“Fuck,” he pants out, hands gripping her ass tighter. 

“How do you want me?” he asks and Johnny has to close her eyes tight for a moment, breathing slowly as she tries to keep herself together. 

“This is good,” she says, grinding down again. She’s not getting enough friction, but she’s so turned on and hot from the bath and from Chucky feeding her and touching her that she could get there really easily.

“You sure?” he asks, trailing one hand around her hip, dipping between them to rub at her, “Because I can do more.”

She hisses at the first, tentative touch to her clit. It’s good, but too soft, too gentle. 

“Here,” she says, placing her hand over his, moving it slightly to the side and up. “Like this.” She moves their hands together, rubbing her clit in firm, even circles. 

“Yeah?” he asks, breathily.

She nods, moaning softly. It’s still a bit shaky in technique, but he’s matching the motion she showed him, keeping the pressure consistent. Her breathing gets faster as she gets closer, thighs clenching on either side of his hips. 

“Fuck, Chucky,” she pants. 

“Matthew,” he says, almost a whisper.

Johnny laughs once, smiling down at him and holding his face in her hands. “Matthew,” she says back, watching it wash over his face, before kissing him again. 

“You can go faster,” she mumbles against his lips, pressing closer to him, trapping his hand between their bodies. He moans a little at her request. 

Chucky kisses her hard as he ups the pressure on her clit, rubbing her faster and harder, losing a little bit of the rhythm he’d gotten, but she’s so close it doesn’t matter. Her hands grip his shoulders tight as she starts to come, grinding down on his fingers, and shaking apart. His hands are light on her after, stroking at her gently as aftershocks roll through her, before stilling entirely and landing on her thighs.

“Good?” he asks, sounding a little shy.

Johnny hums, slumping forward so her head rests on his chest. His arms come up around her, setting on her back. She feels his thumbs rubbing small circles on either side of her spine and she feels so content that her heart hurts.

“You, uh. You kind of get loud, huh?” 

Johnny laughs, briefly registering how her moans had been amplified by all the tile in the bathroom, echoing in the small space. 

“Yeah,” she says, nodding. “I’ve been told that before.”

“It’s kind of hot,” he says. She looks up at him, brow quirked. “Okay, it’s really hot.” 

Johnny surges up, kissing him softly once, before backing up and settling on his thighs. The water has cooled off significantly, but it’s still warm enough that she’s not shivering. Most of the bubbles have disappeared, remnants clinging to the edges of the tub. Chucky’s dick is visible through the water, hard and thick up against his belly. She wonders, briefly, if she could blow him like this, but decides against it.  

 _Hockey player drowns in China while fellating a teammate_ is not the headline she’s looking for at this point in her life. 

She wraps her hand around him, stroking from base to tip, before thumbing at the head. When she looks up at him, his head is tilted back, eyes closed, teeth digging into his bottom lip. His body is so tense.

“Relax,” she says, letting go of him and running her hands up his thighs. 

“Okay,” he says, shakily, “I’ll try.”

She knee-walks up to him again, kneeling over his hips. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” he says, brows scrunched up. 

“Good,” Johnny says before settling her weight on him, trapping his erection between his body and hers. Her hands come to rest on his chest as she starts to rock against him, cock slipping against her folds.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he says quietly, fingers gripping her hips tight enough to bruise.

“You like that?” she asks.

He nods, breathless.  

“God, Johnny, you feel so…” he trails off, moaning.

“Yeah? So what?”  

He groans. “So good.”

Like this, there’s nothing between them. The feeling of him below her, hot and hard, is intoxicating. He could just slip right into her like this, could fuck her and come inside her and something about the thought of it is enough to make her toes curl. She wonders if Matthew is thinking about it too.

“Can you picture it? Sliding into me bare?” she asks, softly. Below her, Matthew freezes, eyes springing open to look at her. “You like that idea? Fucking me raw?” He moans, eyes slipping shut again.

“And when you come, you come deep inside me. You want that?” He’s started to thrust up against her, matching her pace, sliding against her folds and her clit, pressure so intense and so good, that she can feel herself getting close again.  

“Would you go down on me after?” she wonders. “Would you eat your come out of me?”

Matthew makes a shocked, punched out noise, before going tense all over. She can feel it when he comes, dick going impossibly hard before twitching beneath her. Johnny reaches between them, slipping her fingers into herself and pressing up just so, stroking a few times before she’s coming too, one hand braced on his chest, one hand buried between her legs.

When she opens her eyes, he’s watching her.

“Holy _fuck_ , Johnny,” he says, sounding like he’s just run a mile. 

She can feel herself blushing, cheeks going hot. She hides them behind her hands, laughing a little bit.  

“Don’t hide,” he says, pulling her hands away from her face. “That was so hot.”

He laces their fingers together, sitting up to kiss her, tongue slipping into her mouth. The water has gone cold now and she has bubbles clinging to the back of her neck, but in this moment, she’s so warm and happy that she can’t be bothered to care. 

—

The flight back to Calgary is long and somber and quiet. Most of the guys are sleeping, and those who aren’t are too wired into what they’re watching to care much about what Johnny and Chucky are doing. 

With all the lights in the plane off, no one can see them tucked side by side in Chucky’s seat. 

“We should probably talk about what we like and dislike,” she whispers. Her head is tucked under his chin, resting on his chest. His arms are wrapped around her tight, holding her close to his body. If anyone asks, she’ll claim that she’s cold. She’s a bit of a cuddler anyway, so no one would question it. 

Chucky hums. “I really like what we’ve done so far,” he says. 

“Okay,” she laughs, “but like, what else?”

“I really like going down on girls. Like, _really_ like it.” He sighs. “But apparently I’m really bad at it.” 

“Chucky…”

“No, it’s okay,” he says, hand trailing down her arm. “I can get better. Just need some practice.”

She exhales hard. “Okay.”

“What about you?” he asks.

Johnny has to stop and think. She likes… a lot of things. She has to consider what she thinks he’s ready for, what won’t overwhelm him. 

“I like to feel small,” she says, finally.

He makes a questioning noise, hands stilling on her. 

“Any position where the guy is just, all over me, pressing me down. I like it.”

“You like to be held down?” he asks. She nods. 

“Tied down?” he asks softly.

“Sometimes,” she admits.

“Fuck.”

They’re quiet for a little while, lying close together, sharing space and air and body heat. Johnny likes how she feels here with him. Safe and warm and understood. 

“I also, kind of, really like anal,” she says, whispering it into his chest.

Under her, Chucky stops breathing. “Receiving?”

She nods. “Giving too, sometimes.”

“Holy shit,” he whispers.

Johnny looks up at him in the dark. She can only see the faint outline of his face. She wonders if he’s blushing. His cheek feels hot when she reaches out to touch it. 

“Would you want to try that?” she asks. He nods. Her thumb catches on his lip. She wonders how he’d react if she pressed it inside, if he’d suck on it.

“Would you let me fuck you?”  

“Yes,” he admits, breathily. “Anything.” 

“Fuck,” she says, head falling back to his chest. 

They fall asleep like that, curled around each other. In the morning, Noah shakes them awake, brows raised, but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. 

—

Getting back to Calgary means getting back into her normal routine. There’s practice and training and trying to keep her diet from going completely off the rails. 

But there’s also Chucky, now, who keeps shooting her puppy-dog looks from across the ice and in the room, looking so damn hopeful.

“Lunch?” Mony asks one day after practice.

“Sure,” she says, casting one last look at Matthew before leaving with Sean.

They pick a place near the arena, somewhere that caters to her and Sean’s particularly picky taste in food. Lunch, just the two of them, has been a regular occurrence since Johnny first moved to Calgary. The team thought it was “girls time” or bonding or some shit like that, but the truth was, no one could put up with her pickiness the way Sean could.

“So, what happened in China?” Sean asks, once they’ve ordered.

“Hm?” Johnny fiddles with her utensils and napkin for something to do.

Sean stares at Johnny, annoyance written all over her face. 

“I know you fucked Chucky. It’s painfully obvious to anyone who knows what to look for.” 

“He’s that obvious?”

Sean laughs. “You’re not much better.”

Johnny scoffs. 

“You stare at his ass way too much for there to be any other explanation.”

“Uh, okay,” Johnny says, holding her hands up, a clear objection, “he’s got no business having an ass like that if I’m not supposed to stare at it, at least a little. It’s _admiration_.”

“Uh huh.” Sean takes a long drink of water before continuing. “So?”

Johnny sighs. “Fine. Yeah, we had sex.”

“You gonna do it again?”

“Probably,” she admits. She has a running list in her head, ideas of things to do to Chucky. It’s long.

“Do you think that’s smart?” 

“Probably not.”

“Well, at least you know,” Sean says, adjusting her hat. She drums her fingers on the table before asking, “Do you, uh, wanna talk about it?”

Johnny narrows her eyes. “Talk about what?”

“You know,” Sean says, gesturing. She clenches her jaw for a moment, before raising her eyebrows expectantly. “Like, you and Chucky.” 

“Do I want to talk about sex with Chucky?” Johnny squeaks.

“I just—you don’t have many _girl_ friends, and you especially don’t have any up here so I thought…” Sean shrugs, shoulders tense and raised high up around her ears.

Johnny shakes her head vehemently. “No, thank you, but no. Absolutely not.” 

Mony exhales hard. “Oh, thank _god_ , because, like, I want to be a good friend, I do, but I really didn’t want to have any conversation involving you and Chucky and his dick.” She grimaces, looking at Johnny with wide, pleading eyes. “Please, don’t ever tell me anything about his dick.”

“Promise,” Johnny says, sticking her pinky out. Sean smiles big, hooking hers around Johnny’s and shaking.

They move on after that, talking about the new guys and their new coach until their food comes. Three years ago, Johnny would’ve thought this is exactly where her life would be at, only, she’d be holding Sean’s hand and leaning into her side. Now Johnny gets to listen to Sean talk about her girlfriend and the decorating they want to do at their new place.

Johnny’s heart pangs, but she pushes back on it, finishing her food and being the best friend she can be.

—

Johnny hasn’t been in her room long when there’s a knock at her door. She’s not surprised to find Chucky on the other side, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweats. 

The team had been buzzing that night after the shutout win against Nashville—in the locker room, on the bus, on the plane to St. Louis. They’d been loud and rowdy, playing cards and blasting music. Johnny loved it, every minute of it. 

When they’d landed, most of the guys had started to calm down, opting to go to their rooms rather than out. No one had noticed when Johnny walked down the aisle past Chucky, trailing her hand down his arm, or how she’d looked back at him over her shoulder and tilted her head at the door. 

“You went to your room already?” she asks. 

“I work fast,” he says, before slipping past her. She watches as he settles on her bed against the headboard.

Johnny stands at the closet, slowly taking her game day suit off, hanging it up in the closet carefully. When she’s in nothing but her button down, she walks over to the bed.  

They haven’t hooked up in three weeks, not since China, and Johnny’s actually a little nervous, if she’s honest with herself. Will it be different now that they’re back home?  

“C’mere,” Chucky says, patting his thighs gently, curls gone golden in the lamplight. Johnny thinks he looks angelic like this—and so impossibly young.

“You shaved,” she says, straddling his thighs and trailing her fingers down his cheek and across his jaw. The skin is so, so soft.

“Yeah, like, a few days ago. Did you not notice?”

“No, I noticed,” she says, dipping her thumb into the dimple in his chin. She leans in to kiss him, pressing a series of soft kisses to his lips before pulling back. 

“I have an idea,” she says. 

He raises an eyebrow at her before leaning in to kiss down her throat. 

“I wanna sit on your face.”

Matthew freezes below her, breathing heavily into the hollow of her throat.

“Chucky?” She runs her hands through his hair, gently pulling.

“Yeah, okay,” he says on a heavy exhale. 

“Do you want to?” she asks, frowning. 

“Do I want to?” he asks, looking up at her. “Are you joking?”

Johnny shrugs. “Just want to make sure you’re game.” 

“Oh, I’m game,” Chucky says, laughing a little. “I’ve never done it before, but I’d spend all day between your thighs if I could.”

“Fuck, Chucky,” Johnny says, reaching down to touch herself, pressing along the front of her underwear. 

“Don’t do that,” he says, catching her wrist.

“Don’t touch myself?” she asks, eyebrow raised.

“Not where I can see you, _fuck_.” He takes a deep, steadying breath. And, _oh_.

“Scoot down,” Johnny says, unbuttoning her shirt slowly. When she’s got three buttons undone, Chucky reaches out and stills her hands. 

“Leave it on,” he says, cheeks pinking up a little. Johnny raises an eyebrow at him, but does as he says. 

She climbs off him for a moment, pushing her underwear down her thighs as he scoots further down the bed, laying with his head on a pillow.

“This okay?” 

“It’s perfect,” Johnny says, touching his cheek softly. “Ready?”

“Just get over here,” he says, smirking up at her. 

She straddles his chest for a moment, leaning over him as he gets situated.  

“You’ll tell me what you like, right?” 

“Of course,” she says, voice going soft. “That’s the whole point, right?”

“Right.” 

He runs his hands up the backs of her thighs, under her shirt and up over her ass, where he palms the skin, squeezing, before using his hands to pull her forward. She settles over his face, holding her shirt in one hand, bracing herself on the mattress with the other. The first touch of his tongue to her sends sparks through her.

“Fuck,” she whispers, head dropping forward, spreading her thighs a little wider, dropping down so she can sit more readily over his mouth. He licks over her in one broad stripe, flicking over her clit once, before immediately going to town, licking over her in short, quick movements.

“Stop,” she says, letting go of her shirt to fist her hand in his hair.

He pulls back, breathing heavily. She can feel his breath ghosting over her. She shivers. 

“It’s not a race. Go slow. Really,” she exhales, feeling flustered, “really get me close first before you go fast.” 

“Okay,” he says, turning his head to press a wet, sticky kiss to her inner thigh before pulling her close to him again.

This time, he licks into her slowly, teasing her for a while, paying close attention to her reactions. On instinct, he fucks into her with his tongue, making her back bow, moans loud in the quiet hotel room.

“Oh god,” she says, hand tight in his hair.

She feels him pull back, sucking a mark high on her thigh before asking, “More?”

“Yeah,” she says, voice rough and shaky.

His mouth is on her clit in an instant, flicking over it firmly before sucking gently. 

She cries out, startled, and feels his hands squeeze tight on her thighs. She thinks, briefly, about how nice it would be to have his fingers tucked inside her, fucking her through this.

Her head drops forward again to watch him, to see how destroyed his curls are from her hands, to see the flush high on his cheeks. 

“You love this, don’t you?” she asks. “I know you said you liked going down on girls, but you really love this. Love having me sit on your face and just use you.” He moans in response, tongue flicking over her clit again.  

She feels one of his hands leave her thigh and knows where it’s headed.

“Don’t touch yourself,” she says. “Keep your hands above your waist.” 

He whines, but obeys, hand settling firmly on her thigh once again.

Johnny can feel herself getting close, knows that it won’t take much more, so when Chucky sucks on her clit hard, it startles a moan out of her. 

“Fuck, don’t stop,” she begs, and he doesn’t. He keeps sucking on her hard, not letting up on the pressure, until she comes, shaking apart over him. His mouth is gentle after, licking over her and fucking into her softly with his tongue, until she slumps over next to him on the bed. She feels boneless and lazy and so liquid that it takes her a moment to realize that Chucky’s got one hand down the front of his sweats, fisting his cock roughly.

“Oh, Matthew, no—” she starts to say, but it’s too late. His back arches up off the bed as he comes into his fist. She watches as he comes down, chest heaving as he melts back into the mattress.

“I was going to blow you, you know,” she says. He looks up at her, eyes sparkling. 

“Wouldn’t have lasted at all.” He smirks at her, gap teeth peeking through. Her stomach flips. 

“I don’t care about that, Matthew. I just wanna get my mouth on you.”

He groans. “Fuck, Johnny.” 

She hums in response. His expression is soft when he looks at her, something she can’t read. 

“You should get some sleep,” he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead before getting off the bed and walking over to her ensuite. She hears him washing his hands, before he calls out, “Goodnight!” and slips out the door. 

—

Johnny hits 300 points in front of her family and friends. It’s a pretty wrist shot off a pass from Gio, one she knows is coming as soon as the puck hits her stick. Gio skates into her first, followed by Andy, Mony, and Lindy. They envelope her, shouting praise at her and tapping her on the head before backing away to let her skate towards the bench. She doesn’t look at Chucky’s face as she approaches the bench, but feels his gaze on her as she skates away.

After the win, the guys blast “New York, New York”, singing and pantomiming performances. She laughs easily, brightly, before slipping off to the change room to strip and shower quickly. The press is waiting and so is her family. 

Her mom tuts when she sees that Johnny’s forced a beanie over her wet hair, moaning about how the pictures will look. Johnny rolls her eyes. Her general lack of care about her appearance isn’t new, but it never fails to rankle her mother. She stands around smiling and taking pictures with her family and with friends, before excusing herself.  

Chucky’s waiting for her outside the bus. 

“Wanna hang out tonight?” he asks as he slides into the seat next to hers.

“Can’t,” she says, shaking her head.

“Oh,” he says, frowning, “plans with your family?” 

She shakes her head. “No, I’m going to see Kevin.”

His brows furrow. “My cousin?”

Johnny nods. “I like to see him when I can, you know?” 

Matthew has a serious look on his face. “Sure, I guess,” he says, before asking, “So, uh, you guys are close?”

“Yeah. He was my best friend at college. Really looked out for me.” 

Chucky nods, looking altogether unsure. 

“Cool,” he says, sounding like he means literally anything but that.

He’s quiet for the rest of the ride back to the hotel, not saying a single word as they walk off the bus, through the lobby, and into the elevators. When they reach Johnny’s floor, Chucky catches her by the elbow, stopping her before she can get off.

“Hey, congratulations,” he says softly.

“You already said that,” Johnny replies, thinking of how the guys had crowded around her on the ice and the bench and in the locker room. 300 wasn’t a huge deal, but they made her feel special all the same. 

“I know, but—I wanted to say it again.”

Johnny swallows hard, feeling warm all over. “Thanks.”

“You can, uh, text me. When you get back, if you want?” he offers. Johnny raises her eyebrows at him. “I was gonna, like, celebrate the win and, you know. Points.” His face flames as he says it and Johnny’s eyebrows nearly touch her forehead. 

“Right,” she says, clearing her throat. “Sure.” 

He nods once before letting go of her elbow. Johnny stumbles off the elevator and to her room, heart beating double time. 

—

“Aw, honey, you dressed up for me. You shouldn’t have,” is what Kevin says when he opens his apartment door, taking in her holey leggings and too-big Phillies sweatshirt. 

“Hi to you, too, asshole,” she chirps as she slips through the narrow gap in the door, stepping around him to slip her shoes off in the hallway. 

“Long time,” he says, pulling her into a tight hug, big frame absolutely enveloping her. She always liked this, Kevin’s hugs. With all the height and size he has on her, it’s easy to just… sink into it. He smells the same as always, like the soap they use at the arenas, his deodorant, and something vaguely musky. After all the years she’d spent tucked into his side on benches and couches and buses and bars, it’s comforting.

“Yeah,” she replies, and it comes out shakier than she’d meant for it to. If Kevin notices, he doesn’t mention it. 

“How’s it been?” he asks once they’ve settled on the couch. He’s rewatching _The Office_ —again—but it’s a welcome background noise.

“Good,” she shrugs.

“300, huh? Not a big deal,” he says, shoving at her shoulder.

Johnny feels herself flushing. Of all the people she’s ever played with, Kevin knows the most about her journey.

She never expected to go pro. Hell, she barely expected to play hockey in college. She’d been cut from her U15 team for being too small. She’d barely made it into a U16 program for the same reason. And forget the NTDP. They hadn’t given her a second look, let alone a first. While her skill had been there, it was her size that scared teams. At sixteen, she’d barely been 5’5”—fast, skilled, and sneaky—but lacking in the mass and strength needed to go head to head with the big boys. Northeastern had decommitted before she turned eighteen.

But Boston College had interest. They’d invited her and her sister, Maddy, to come take a look at their campus and their program. It’d been Kevin, all six-foot-five-inches of him, that greeted her that hot July day. He was tan from a summer spent at the Cape—and so cocky. She’d been a little bit in love with him from that very first glance. Neither she, nor Maddy, had said a word the whole time they toured the campus, wandering around in Kevin’s gigantic shadow as he pointed at this and at that. 

At the end of the day, when they’d offered her a spot, she’d jumped at it. 

For three years at BC, Kevin had been her constant companion. He’d looked out for her on and off the ice, getting into his fair share of scraps for her. 

People thought it was a love thing, and they were right, but the bond they shared wasn’t based on sex or romance. He was her big brother, in every sense of the phrase. He protected her and teased her and supported her and just, _loved_ her. His faith in her from day one always kept her going.

“Knew you could do it,” he says. “Always knew you could.”

“I know, Kev,” she says, slumping into his side. His arm comes up around her easily, pulling her close to him.

“How’s Monahan?” he asks. Monahan. Always on a last name basis. 

“Fine,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Still with her girlfriend?”

Johnny nods.

“Idiot,” he says, playing his part.

“It’s fine, Kevin,” she says. “I’m over it.”

Kevin hums, like he doesn’t believe her. “Got a new distraction?” he asks. 

Johnny freezes for a second, praying that Kevin doesn’t pick up on it, but he does. Of course he fucking does.  

He sits back, pushing her away from him so he can look at her. “Spill.”

Johnny grimaces. “Do I have to?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Matthew,” she says, just wanting to get this over with so they can get back to cuddling and watching _The Office_ and just, soaking in each other’s presence. 

The smile falls off his face. 

“My cousin?” 

“It’s not, like, a boyfriend thing,” she tries to explain, hands tangling in the drawstring on her hoodie. 

“So, it’s a sex thing.” She nods. “You have a _sex thing_ with my _cousin_.” 

“Yes.”

He makes a retching sound, fake gagging, as he sprawls over her again, crushing her into the couch.

“That’s disgusting, Johnny,” Kevin says into her hair. 

“You asked,” she laughs.

They don’t talk about it, after that, or about how empty Kevin’s new apartment is, now that Brady and Jimmy don’t live with him. She doesn’t want to see his hangdog expression again, having mistakenly brought it up over the summer.

“It’s complicated,” he’d said, shoulders drawing inward. “Brady, she—” he’d frowned. “Her and Jimmy are gonna move out,” he’d said. And Johnny had hated the look on his face so much that she’d wanted to Eternal Sunshine him, so he never had to look like that again. 

They fall asleep on the couch, tucked tight into each other, _BoJack Horseman_ playing softly on the television.

—

It’s bright. That’s the first thing Johnny realizes upon waking up. The second is that she’s very, _very_ hot. The third is that her phone is vibrating loudly on the coffee table. 

Coffee table.

_Fuck_.

She scrambles to sit up, but struggles, Kevin’s weight pinning her to the couch. She elbows him, once, and he grunts, before rolling to the side, allowing her to escape. 

“Where the _fuck_ are you?” Mony asks as soon as she answers.

“What time is it?” she asks, voice rough with sleep.

“It’s eight-fucking-thirty,” she says. “We’re leaving for the airport with or without you in thirty minutes.”

_Fuck_. “Can you—” 

“Get your shit together?” she asks. “Yeah, already did that.”

“I owe you.”

“Big time,” Mony says, before hanging up.

Behind her, Kevin’s pulling on his shoes. “C’mon. I’ll drop you off.”

“I can just order a car,” she offers. He snorts at her.

“That’ll take too long,” he slurs, rubbing at his eyes. His hair is all ruffled from sleep and she _knows_ what the team will think. She bites her lip.

“Okay, fine.”

They pull up outside the hotel with five minutes to spare. 

Kevin can’t park on the street to see her inside, which is for the best, but it doesn’t matter. The team bus is already out front—along with the team.

“Give daddy a kiss?” he asks, leaning into her space and pursing his lips at her.

“You’re disgusting,” she says, pushing his face away. 

He laughs, but pulls her across the center console anyway, kissing her forehead and wrapping his arms around her tight.

“See you in March,” he whispers, squeezing her once before letting go.

“Sooner, I hope,” she says, patting his cheek once, before getting out of the car.

She’s met with a wave of hoots and wolf-whistles. Her cheeks heat immediately and she _knows_ her blush must be epic. A glance over her shoulder confirms her suspicion that Kevin is absolutely _loving_ this, the dick. He points at her once, and laughs, before pulling away from the curb. Asshole.

“ _Well_ , if it isn’t Miss Johnny Gaudreau,” Gio says when she shuffles up the sidewalk. “We’ve been looking for you.” 

“Sorry G,” she says, ducking her head. “We fell asleep.”

That phrase doesn’t help her cause at _all_. More howls and cheers break out.

_It’s not like that_ , she wants to say, but she knows it’ll fall on deaf ears. They’ve already made up their minds about what happened. 

_Guys, we just passed out on the couch after a little Netflix and chill. It’s no big deal._

Yeah right.

Mony hands her bags to her, giving her a meaningful look, as if to say, _Really?_

Johnny shakes her head and she knows Sean understands, nodding once. Quickly, Johnny stows her bags in the bottom of the bus, before following Mony up the steps.

Chucky’s seated already, looking pointedly out the window. 

“Can I sit here?” she asks. He shrugs and doesn’t look at her.

_ Oh, here we fucking go. _

He’s quiet the whole ride, not asking her about her night at all. Not even sparing her a single glance. 

He doesn’t talk to her at the airport or on the plane, either. Once they land in Montreal, he makes a beeline for the empty seat next to Noah, and gets off the bus before Johnny’s even stood up. 

Great. 

—

Johnny goes down _hard_ during the game. She’s not surprised, exactly, when she gets hit by Jordie Benn from behind and just _crumples._ She’s a small player, a lot smaller than Jordie fucking Benn. A lot smaller than Charlie McAvoy, too, who’d laid a similar hit on her a few games before this one. 

What she’s not expecting, is for Chucky to skate by her and immediately get into it with Jordie.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she hears Chucky ask. 

“Hey man, it was an accident,” Jordie says, hands up.  

“I don’t _fucking_ care,” Chucky says, pushing on Jordie. “You should know better. She’s fucking small, but I know you saw her you fucking idiot.” 

He wants a fight. She can tell he wants a fight. They’re down by two and the team needs this. The team needs blood.

“You don’t wanna get into this with me, man,” Jordie says as the refs skate up.  

“What if I do?” Chucky asks, reaching around a ref to shove at Jordie more.

Johnny’s on all fours at this point, dazed, but able to get up on her own. Sean’s skated over at this point, too, and is interrogating Jordie alongside Chucky. Down the boards, Gio is getting into it with a couple other players as well. She rolls her eyes. 

A linesman places a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Her head hurts a little and her hands are shaking, but she thinks she’s okay. She nods. 

“I think so.”

“They’ll want you to get checked out,” he says. She frowns. Second time in a week. Third time this season. She gets the precaution but she just wants to fucking play. She sighs, pulling herself up the rest of the way, and heads across the ice and down the tunnel.

Johnny’s gone ten minutes tops. The trainers run through the protocol quickly, but seem satisfied with her state, only asking her to come back once the game is finished. She’s back on the bench, pressed between Elias and Chucky, shortly after they enter the second half of the third period. 

No one says anything to her, but she gets a few nods. Lindy knocks his knee against hers before turning his attention back to the game. She does the same, focusing on the ice, until she feels a hand on her thigh, gentle, but there. Matthew’s looking at her when she turns her head. 

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Kinda scary,” he admits, frowning. His face does something complicated. “It’s hard. Seeing you go down like that.” 

“It’s hockey,” she says, shrugging.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” And then— “It’s different. With you.”

Johnny’s surprised by his admission, and maybe a little pissed off. Just because she’s small, and a woman, doesn’t mean that he should treat her differently. Doesn’t mean she _wants_ to get treated any differently. He should know that. 

“Why, because I’m a woman?” she asks.

“No,” he says, brows knitting together, “because I care about you.”  

And with that, he’s standing up, and jumping over the boards, leaving Johnny to process _that_ all by herself.

—

Chucky finds her after the game. She’s at her stall, unlacing her skates, movements a little slower and more deliberate than usual.

“You go see the trainers yet?” he asks.

She shakes her head slowly. He frowns. 

“Wanted to shower first,” she explains, “but I’m having a hard time getting out of my gear.” 

“Need help?” he asks, looking sheepish.

“Yeah, actually,” Johnny says, breathing a sigh of relief. “Could you?” she asks, thumbing over her shoulder. He nods, following her out of the locker room, past the men’s showers, and into the much smaller room reserved for her and Mony. Back in Calgary, the women’s changing rooms are nice. They’re not big, given that most teams don’t have more than a few women on them, but they’re renovated and bright and clean, like the room itself. But in Montreal, where the Habs have never drafted a woman, the room is… lacking a little something. It’s small and dark and the shower is in the corner, blocked off by a half wall. 

“I’ve never been in one of these before,” Chucky says when the door swings shut behind him. 

“Not much different than the big room,” she says, stepping out of her slides.

“I guess not,” he shrugs. “Just smaller.”

Johnny steps around the bench in the middle of the room to stand in front of Chucky. She’d lost her hockey socks and skates in the locker room, but had struggled with everything else. 

Matthew’s hands are gentle on her as he helps ease her jersey up over her head. He drops it to the floor, while Johnny pushes her elbow pads down her arms. His fingers drift up her ribs to the straps of her shoulder pads. 

“No Under Armour?” he asks, thumbs rubbing circles in the exposed skin of her abdomen. 

She shakes her head. “No point.”

Chucky raises an eyebrow at her comment, but doesn’t say anything, instead loosening the straps on the pads, and helping her slip it over her head. He lays it gently on the bench, before turning back to Johnny. She stands in front of him, feeling small in nothing but her sports bra and hockey shorts. She knows how tiny she looks like this, her gear dwarfing her.

Chucky’s face twists when he looks at her, his hand reaching out to touch her ribs, hand spanning her waist. 

“Does this hurt?” he ask, pressing down gently. 

Johnny hisses, looking down, where she sees the top of a bruise she knows must be blooming across her side and back.

“A little,” she admits. Chucky hums, brows still knitted.  

“Are you all set here?” 

“Actually, no. Could you?” she asks, pulling on the strap of her sports bra. Chucky’s breath catches, but he nods. 

His hands find the band easily, fingers stroking at the fabric. She knows it’s wet—it _has_ to be wet from how much she sweats during a game—but he doesn’t seem to mind. His fingers slip beneath it, grasping the fabric and pulling it up over her head. It gets tangled on her arms and for a moment, they’re stuck like that, pressed close together. Barefoot in the room, she fits perfectly under his chin. When he looks down at her, she feels breathless, heart thumping in her chest. 

After a beat, he pulls the bra over her hands and dumps it on the floor as her arms come back down to rest by her sides. Chucky’s hands come up to her ribs again, rubbing soft, gentle circles into them, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. 

“I should go,” he says, voice pitched deep, but making no move to actually step away from her.

“Yeah,” she says, hating how breathy she sounds. 

“You really did scare me tonight, you know?" 

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault,” he says, leaning down to press his forehead to hers.

“I didn’t sleep with him, you know,” she whispers into the space between them.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does if it bothers you,” she replies.

Chucky tenses for a moment, before humming in response. 

“Okay,” he says, sounding unsure, before squeezing her hips once through her hockey shorts, and turning to leave.

The door swings shut behind him and Johnny stands there for a moment, naked from the waist up, but feeling laid bare. 

Outside, she can hear someone talking to Matthew. She can’t hear what they asked, but she hears him say, “She just needed some help getting changed.” and “Mind your business, dude.” followed by some more mumbling. After another moment, all sound fades away and Johnny gets undressed quickly, trying to ignore everything racing through her mind.

—

The loss to Pittsburgh is infuriating. One goal after another after another. Despite their efforts—and Johnny can’t even call it their best efforts—nothing can stem the bleeding.  

The room is quiet after. Coach Peters doesn’t say much, knowing that the team is already feeling embarrassed and ashamed and disappointed. 

Johnny watches as Gio, Hammer, Nealer and Matthew give interviews. She can practically feel the irritation coming off Matthew in waves, but as soon as the camera is on him it ebbs away, leaving nothing but resignation in its place.

The way they’ve been playing this season is getting to him. He’s said as much to the media, to the room—and privately—to her. He knows they can be better. He expects them to be better. 

Johnny waits until Matthew’s showered, sitting in her stall and watching the room empty out. He changes with his back to her, unaware or uncaring that she’s watching him. He seems quiet, introspective. 

When he’s dressed, she walks over to him slowly, silently. “Come over?” she asks, hand gentle on his elbow.

His jaw clenches at her request, but he says, “Of course.”

He follows her out to the players lot, his hand brushing hers every few steps.

They get into their cars silently. He knows the way, so Johnny doesn’t bother slowing down to let him follow her. 

Chucky’s been to her place before—both with other teammates and by himself—but not for this. Never for this. What they have now, what they _do_ , has only been done on the road so far. Something they share in hotel rooms and private corners of public spaces. Having him in her _house_ suddenly has her feeling nervous.  

She doesn’t bother going upstairs when she gets home. She takes her shoes off, hangs her coat, and fluffs a few pillows on her couch. She’s moments from maybe putting together a post-game snack when she hears her garage door close and the side door open. Johnny rounds the corner, standing in the hall as she watches as Chucky toes off his shoes and hangs his coat. 

“Hey,” he says, finally, voice small. He seems so unlike his usual self, shoulders hunched, brows drawn. Johnny doesn’t speak. Instead, she closes the distance between them, hugging him tight. His arms come up around her immediately, enveloping her. She feels his face press into her hair, where it’s still wet and soft and curling. 

“Come upstairs?” she asks, face pressed tightly into Matthew’s chest. He nods. 

—

Her room is pretty tidy, all things considered. There’s a pair of heeled booties in the middle of the floor, along with a pair of socks she’d tried on but shucked before leaving for the game. A jacket is draped over a chair in the corner and her bed is rumpled from where she’d slept on top of the duvet for her pre-game nap. Chucky’s not looking at any of it. His eyes are on her the moment she turns to face him.

“What’s today’s lesson?” he asks, a soft, sad smile on his face.

Something inside Johnny just _slots_ into place. She exhales shakily, hand reaching up to yank her tie loose, unbuttoning her shirt quickly. 

“I want you to fuck me,” she says.

Chucky nods, cheeks flushing as his lips part. “Sure,” he says, like it’s no big deal. He starts to undress too, dropping his clothes in a pile on Johnny’s floor, an ink blot on the white carpet.

When her shirt and jacket hit the floor, she hears Chucky’s breath catch. 

“You’re wearing a bra.” 

“Bralette,” she says, adjusting the straps on her shoulders. 

“Why?” he practically hisses.

“Because you can see my nipples through my dress shirt otherwise,” she says, stating the obvious. 

Chucky groans, stepping close to her, hands coming up to fan out over her ribs, thumbs brushing the silky fabric of the band.

“I like it. The color,” he rasps, voice pitched low, “it’s nice.”  

It’s a soft orange color, something the woman at the store had called “apricot”. Johnny thinks it looks nice against her skin, a stark contrast to the tan she has, even deep into Alberta winters.  

“Yeah?” she asks. He nods, lip caught between his teeth. She thinks it’s meant to be a sexy move, but she can see his stupid little gappy teeth, and it reads as cute instead. 

“You should take these off,” he says, hand catching on the waistband of her suit pants. 

“So do it,” she counters.

His hands are soft and tentative as he reaches between them to undo the button and zip of her pants before pushing them over her hips and down her legs where they pool on the floor. 

“Fuck, Johnny,” he whispers into the space between them. His hands fall to her hips. She knows he’s looking at her underwear then, bright red and lacy, a violent stripe of fabric across her body.

“You like these too?” she asks.

He doesn’t answer. He fists one hand in her hair, tangling in her damp curls, and pulls her in, kissing her hard and fast. It’s all teeth and tongues and rough hands. He bites at her lower lip, harder than he should. She yanks his head back, hand brutal where she’s pulling on his curls. He smiles down at her, this dangerous, tempting thing. It’s the kind of smile he’s thrown her before, on the ice. 

She likes it.

“Good,” she says, before diving back in.

“Kissing was never an issue, remember?” he asks as he bites a line down her throat. 

“I remember,” she says. His kissing is what got them here in the first place.

“Bed?” he asks. She nods. His hands are under her arms in an instant, lifting her up like a small child or a feisty cat. She thinks to ask him what he’s doing, but then she’s being tossed onto the bed, bouncing hard, before settling. 

She laughs, then. Full belly laughs that steal the remaining anger from her. When she stops, Chucky is still standing at the foot of the bed, eyebrow raised, as if to ask, “Are you done?”

“C’mere,” she says, spreading her legs and crooking her finger at him. He comes. 

She smiles at him, eyes crinkling, and runs a hand up his jaw. “You didn’t shave.”

“You sounded disappointed when I did before so…”

She kisses him, a soft thing pressed to his mouth, another pressed to the dimple in his chin.

“I was, but only a little.”

He hums. 

“How do you want me?” he asks. 

“Ideally, I’d want you to tie me down,” she says, “but I think we’re both too tired for that.”

Above her, Chucky is holding very still.

“So I want you to hold me down and fuck me as hard as you can.” 

All of the breath rushes out of Chucky in one, long exhale.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” 

He nods. 

“I might not last,” he admits.

“That’s okay. I can get there,” she says, brushing a stray curl back from his forehead.

He kisses her, tongue teasing across her bottom lip, and then in, stroking against hers. She moans, fingers clenching in the sheets beside her.

His fingers on her are a surprise. One finger, then two, slide into her underwear, touching her tentatively, running across her before dipping in to slide across her clit. He rubs confidently in small, firm circles. Johnny smiles into the kiss.  

“You’re so wet,” he mumbles against her mouth.

“Yeah? How’s that feel?”

“Uh, good,” he replies, giving her nothing. 

Johnny rolls her eyes. “Think about how good that’s gonna feel wrapped around your cock.”

Chucky hums. “Yep. I’m—I’m trying not to think about that.”

“Matthew,” she sighs. “You’re allowed to think about how good this is going to feel.”

“I know,” he says, sitting back a little. His hand is still buried between her legs, and while it’s not moving, it’s still pretty fucking distracting. “I just…” 

“Just what?”

“I just want to be good for you.”

And, that’s new. Johnny makes a mental note to examine that a little further later. Much later. 

“You will be,” she promises.

And then—

“I really need this, you know? I really need this from you.” She sighs, head falling back against the pillow. “I just gotta get out of my head for a little bit, you know?”

Chucky looks at her with his eyebrows drawn and serious. “I understand,” he says and Johnny thinks he does.

She watches as he finishes undressing, shoving his boxers down his thighs, before turning to her. He peels her underwear off with the utmost care, sliding them slowly down her legs and over her feet. 

“Can you leave this on?” he asks, stroking his hand over the cup of her bralette. Johnny nods, smiling in a way that she hopes is reassuring. She wants to tease him about this, about how he seems to like fucking her in various states of undress. She wants to see the way his cheeks flush, the way he stutters out a defense. Later, she thinks. 

He gets a condom on quickly, kneeling between her spread thighs. She stretches her arms out beside her, spanning them across the bed, palms up. He watches her, rapt. 

“Like this?” he asks, leaning forward to wrap his hands around her wrists.

“Yeah,” she says, shakily. Sprawled over her like this, he’s so goddamn _big_. She wants to press her thighs together, but they’re split around his body. 

“Fuck, okay. _Fuck_.” He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly, before taking one hand off her wrist, and guiding himself in. The stretch is just as good as she remembered, back arching as he pushes in on one long slide. His hand is back on her wrist before she can miss it.

Above her, Chucky’s brows are drawn, face a perfect picture of concentration. Johnny feels his hands flexing on her wrists, fingers circling and squeezing the soft skin and fragile bones. 

“You can move now,” she says, drawing her legs up next to his hips.

Chucky laughs, a small, ghost of a thing. He’s flushed, sweat beading at his hairline already, curls going tight, and holding impossibly still.

Slowly, tentatively, he starts to move his hips. He seems altogether unsure of what he’s doing, rhythm off, weight unevenly distributed. He’s so focused on holding Johnny’s arms down, that he’s kind of crushing her wrists into the bed. 

“Chucky—” she starts to say and he frowns, face just falling.

“I know, shit. Sorry, I _know_ ,” he sighs, sitting back on his haunches. Johnny grimaces when he slips from her body, startled by the sudden loss. “I’m fucking this up.”

Johnny sits up, pressing her forehead to Chucky’s, fingers threading through his hair to hold him close to her. 

“No, you’re not,” she says. Chucky scoffs. “You’re not.” Her fingers tighten in his curls, nails biting into his scalp. “What I was going to say is that you should put more weight on your knees. You were kind of crushing me.”

“Okay,” he sighs, nodding. She leans in to kiss him gently, a single press of her lips to his, an assurance that everything will be okay. 

Johnny falls back onto her pillows, arranging herself under Chucky’s watchful eye.  

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he says on an exhale. And Johnny, she isn’t really sure what to do with that. She knows that Chucky finds her attractive, knows that he has to, or else he wouldn’t be here. 

But beautiful? 

She feels herself flush, face going bright red. In an instant, she has her arms over her face.

“You can’t just say stuff like that, _fuck_.”

“Oh, so you can say absolutely nasty things to me, but I call you beautiful, and it’s too much?”

“Yes?”

“Okay,” he says, laughing. “Good to know.” His hands are on her hips, rubbing circles into them with his thumbs. 

He pulls her close to him, maneuvering her so her thighs are up over his, calves resting over his hips, ass pressing into his knees.  

It’s only been a few moments, but when he thrusts back inside her, Johnny feels so impossibly full, so _content_. Her eyes slip shut for a moment, savoring it.

Chucky leans forward, folding her in half, before gathering her wrists in one big hand—and Johnny’s breath catches in her chest. _Fuck_ , she thinks, heart beating double-time. With his free hand, he cups her jaw and tilts her face up so he can kiss her.

And like, it’s good. It’s so _fucking_ good like this, with him all over her, pressing her into the mattress, completely held down by his big body. If it had to be like this, just like this, all the time, she’d be satisfied.

“Don’t move,” he says, squeezing her wrists with one hand for show. His other finds her hip, pressing it down into the bed.

“Whatever you say, Matthew,” she teases.

He groans in response, pulling almost all the way out before thrusting back in. It’s not perfect, but he sets a good rhythm, all the while holding her down, pressing as much of his weight into her as he can. 

With her folded up the way she is, Johnny can’t do much of anything, can’t move her hips or push back at him in any way—and she likes it. She’s so turned on by how at his mercy she is, that she starts to unravel pretty quickly. 

On instinct, she tests the strength of his bond, pulling her wrists apart in his hand. If she could just slip free, just get one hand down her stomach to touch herself—

“What did I say, Johnny?” Chucky asks, hand tightening around her wrist.

“Don’t move.”

“So why are you moving?” he asks and Johnny _whines_. “What is it? Do you want to stop?”

“No,” she whines out, clenching around him just to see his reaction. “I’m so close,” she says, and Chucky has the audacity to look smug. 

“Already?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Johnny says, annoyed. 

Matthew lets go of her wrists and her thigh where he’s been gripping it. Both of his hands come down to meet in the middle, to circle her waist, brushing up over her ribs, where he thumbs at her nipples through the lace of her bralette. Johnny sighs. Close, but not good enough.

“More?” Chucky asks. 

With her arms free, it’s easy to shove them down between them, to touch the base of his cock, thumbing at the skin where he’s disappearing inside of her. Above her, Chucky makes a punched out sound, thrusts stuttering. 

“Good?” she asks, before sliding her hand up to touch herself. She’s so fucking close. She knows that with a few more thrusts and the right amount of pressure on her clit, that it’d all be over. She could end it right now. 

Johnny doesn’t want that.  

She raises her hands up above her body again, arms crossed at the wrist. Chucky watches her, understanding; his hand wraps around her wrists again, holding her firmly. His other slips between her legs, thumbing her clit while he thrusts into her, faster and harder now than before.

“You love it don’t you?” she asks. Chucky’s brows are drawn, concentrating thoroughly on the task at hand. “You love how small I am. Love that you can just throw me around.”

“Yes,” he gasps, breath stuttering. She can feel his hands shaking on her body. _Not much longer_ , she thinks.

“Do you like this? Holding me down?”

He nods, bottom lip drawn tight between his teeth.

“Good,” she says. “I like it too. It makes me so fucking wet.” Chucky groans, hand flexing on her wrists, thrusts getting sloppy. 

“Would you let me hold you down?” she asks, curious.

“ _Yes_ ,” he admits. Johnny groans. 

“You’ve been so good,” she says, ankles crossing at the small of his back, pressing him closer to her. “Such a good boy for me, Matthew.”

And that’s all it takes. He thrusts into her two, three times, just on the painful side of rough, before coming. Johnny hisses when he slumps forward, weight resting entirely on her, crushing her into the bed. His grip on her wrists loosens and she wants so badly to slip her hands between them but she knows she _can’t_. He’s too heavy. She’s just so wet and turned on and it wouldn’t take much of anything but _fuck_ he’s just so big. She whines again, squirming underneath him, trying to get any friction. For a moment, she has a flashback to the first time they hooked up. Her heart pangs. 

“Chucky, c’mon—” she pushes at his shoulders and he goes, thank god, sliding off of her and down her body. 

He shoulders her thighs apart easily and gets his mouth on her before she understands what he’s doing. 

He slips three fingers right into her, stretching her where she’s feeling sore and used, sucking on her clit roughly. She comes on a shout, body bowing up, thighs clamping around his head. He licks her through it, tongue fucking into her lazily as she shivers through the aftershocks. 

“Fuck, Chucky,” she says once she’s caught her breath. His head is pillowed on her abdomen, mouth shiny and wet, looking thoroughly blissed out. 

“Was that good?” he asks, sounding a little shy. Her hand finds his hair. 

“Yes, Matthew,” she says, fingers carding through his curls. “That was good.”

They fall asleep just like that. In the morning, she can’t feel her legs and Matthew complains about his neck, but it’s worth it, ultimately. 

—

Bailey arrives with her mother and sister on a Wednesday. Johnny picks them up at the airport, like a good daughter, even though she’s fucking _exhausted_ after getting in late the night before. She’d won the game against Buffalo in overtime off a pass from Gio and promptly gotten on the plane where she’d passed out pressed against Mony.

Her mother, per usual, complains about the length of the flight and how cold it already is in Calgary, but Johnny doesn’t really hear her. She’s too focused on her beautiful baby and how glad she is to see her after a month apart. 

To her credit, Bailey is _perfect_. She’s happy and soft and just so pleased to be back with Johnny. She jumps all over her as soon as she’s out of her crate, bouncing along beside her as they walk to Johnny’s car. 

Her phone buzzes while her mother and sister get their bags settled in the trunk. 

 **tkachuky cheese party** 😜  
_u busy today?_  

Of course. She’d mentioned to him earlier in the week that her mom and sister were coming for a visit, but she couldn’t blame him for forgetting. Their schedules were so hectic that little details like that often slipped through the cracks.  

 **johnny**  
_just picked mom and katie up from the airport_  
_can’t really hang_

“Who are you texting, Jeanette?” her mother asks. 

“Just Chucky, ma.”

“‘Just Chucky’, she says,” her mother says before clicking her tongue. Her sister meets her gaze over their mother and smiles before rolling her eyes. 

 **johnny**  
_actually_  
_do u wanna come over and meet bailey?_

 **tkachuky cheese party** 😜  
😍😍😍  
_yes !!!!_

They agree to meet at her place in three hours, but she’s not entirely surprised when he shows up forty-five minutes early. 

“Hey Mrs. Gaudreau,” he says once he’s stepped inside and kicked his boots off. Johnny watches as Chucky hugs her mom and then her sister, before brushing past Johnny entirely to where Bailey’s wiggling in the doorway to the living room.  

“Hi Bailey,” he says in a soft voice that makes Johnny feel warm all over. Bailey starts prancing around as Chucky walks over to her, pressing into his legs when he gets close enough. He spends a few minutes letting her sniff around him and get used to his scent before he plops down on the floor, content to pet her half in her living room, half in the foyer. 

“You could sit on the couch, you know,” she says, kicking at his leg.

“I’m good right here,” he says, beaming up at her as Bailey licks his jaw. Johnny rolls her eyes and walks past him, making a show of stepping over his legs.

Johnny’s mother catches up to her in the kitchen, pulling her aside. 

“Aren’t you going to offer him anything?” she asks. 

“Why?” Johnny scoffs, grabbing herself a water from the fridge. “He knows where everything is.”

Her mother arches one thin eyebrow. “Oh _does_ he?”

Johnny takes a swig from the bottle, rolling her eyes. “Not like that, ma. He’s my teammate. Mony and Benny and Lindy know where everything is too.”

Her mother kisses her teeth at her, lips pursed like Johnny’s said something to offend her. “So many boys around all the time, and yet you _never_ have a boyfriend.”

“Oh, here we fuckin’ go…” Johnny mutters. 

“Don’t use that _tone_ with me, Jeanette Michelle.”

Johnny grimaces, and starts to reply, but can’t because from the doorway she hears: 

“Your name is _Jeanette_?” 

Behind them, Chucky’s face is lit up in what Johnny thinks could only be described as _delight_.

“Yes, and if you ever tell anyone, I’ll gut you like a fucking _fish_ ,” Johnny says, pointing her water bottle at Chucky. It’s altogether unthreatening, but he raises his hands regardless.

“Secret’s safe with me,” he lisps, crossing his heart.

“Let’s take Bailey out back,” she says, grasping for any out she can find. Her mother watches her, arms crossed, as she and Chucky make a beeline for the backdoor.

He leaves a little while later, begging off an invitation to dinner, which is probably for the best. She doesn’t need her mother grilling her in front of a teammate, even if it’s just Chucky. 

Later, when she’s in bed, Chucky sends her a picture of her and Bailey that he must’ve taken when she wasn’t looking. It’s cute. She saves it immediately, and without thinking, posts it to her Instagram too.

—

A few days later, Chucky tags along when Johnny meets Mony for a puppy playdate. She deliberately ignores the look Mony gives her when she sees Chucky trailing along behind her, Bailey’s leash firmly in hand.

“Didn’t know you were bringing Chucky,” Mony says out of the corner of her mouth. 

Johnny shoots her a pleading look. “He’s just, really good with Bailey,” she offers.

Mony’s eyes dart to her face, eyebrows raising like she wants to say something really, really badly. Johnny’s mouth stays firmly shut, lest she says something incriminating. 

The thing is, Johnny hadn’t really thought about it when Chucky invited himself to the dog park. She and Mony hung out with the young guys on the team all the time—they kind of have to, being a team and all. It’s never weird. And it’s easier, after all, than trying to go out and make friends in Calgary, which is near impossible with their schedule.

So, yeah, the boys on the team are her boys and that’s just how it is. It shouldn’t be _weird_ or a _thing_ that she brought Chucky along.

And like, okay fine. It _is_ different because she’s kind of, sort of got a sex thing with Chucky right now, and it’s also different because she and Mony had that really intense sex thing a few years ago, but don’t anymore and also don’t talk about it _ever_ , but like, it’s fine. It’s cool. _Whatever_. She and Mony know that, but Chucky definitely doesn’t know. So if anyone’s feeling weird about this whole thing, it’s just the two of them. Or maybe it’s just her. 

It’s probably just her.

Later, when Mony’s throwing a ball for Winston, she asks, “Did you tell Chucky that I’ve been trying to convince you to get a dog for like, two seasons now?”

Chucky shakes his head. “No, but it’s cute that you guys have matching dogs now.” 

“Hers and hers dogs three years too late, eh Johnny?” Mony laughs, elbowing her.

She tenses up a little, eyes darting over to where Chucky is standing next to Bailey. His brows are scrunched up, like he’s trying to figure something out, but the next moment it’s gone and he’s throwing a stick for Bailey. 

Johnny exhales and tries not to overthink things. It was just a passing comment. Chucky has no idea about her and Mony. Hell, he doesn’t even know she _likes_ girls. Things will be fine. She has nothing to worry about. 

—

She worries about it. All afternoon, through their playdate and after, when they’ve gone to a restaurant that has a patio. She’s quiet, which isn’t out of character, but maybe she’s a little _too_ quiet because Mony and Chucky keep shooting her looks when she doesn’t laugh or chime in until a beat too late. 

Chucky takes the keys from her when they walk out to her truck. 

“Let me drive,” he says, and she lets him, piling into the front with Bailey a heavy, comforting weight on her lap. 

“You okay?” he asks once they’ve hit the highway. Johnny nods, before humming in response when she realizes Chucky isn’t looking at her. He frowns, but doesn’t say anything. 

Back at the house, Johnny’s stomach swims when Chucky follows her inside. It’s not that she expected him to just drop her off and leave, but… she’d hoped. 

“Want to watch something?” he asks.

“Sure,” she offers. “You pick.”

He puts on _The Office_ and Johnny tries not to roll her eyes.  

They settle on the couch with Bailey tucked between them, passed out half on Johnny, half on Chucky. She’s lulled into a false sense of security by the relative ease and quiet of the evening, feeling less and less anxious with the passing of each episode. 

“So, uh, you and Mony are close, eh?” Chucky asks after the third episode ends.

Johnny tenses up. 

“Just now noticing that?” she asks, aiming for teasing, but not quite making it.

“You can tell me anything, you know?” Chucky says. “And not just because we’re, you know.” He makes a gesture with his hand. 

“Fucking?”

His mouth twists. “Yeah,” he says. “But we’re friends too.” 

Johnny frowns. They are friends. And team is family, after all. 

The thing is, she’d told Kevin pretty early on that she was bisexual, but Kevin was different. Kevin wasn’t straight, after all, having been in a triad with two of his teammates for the better part of two seasons. If anyone was going to get it, it was Kevin.  

And sure, everything Johnny knew about Chucky told her that he was open-minded—but he was still a straight guy. And telling straight guys about her sexuality could be such a fucking pain in the ass. Would they be supportive? Or disgusted? Would she get fetishized? Invited to a threesome? 

“Yeah, I know,” she says, finally.

“Can I ask you something?”

Johnny’s stomach turns.

“Sure.”

“Did you and Mony used to…” he pauses, brows knitted. He’s searching for the right phrase, Johnny realizes. He wants to get this right. “Date?”

“No,” Johnny says and Chucky visibly exhales. 

“Oh. Okay. I just, got vibes today, you know, that something had, uh. Happened. Before.”

“It did,” Johnny says quietly and Chucky’s eyes snap to hers. “We used to hook up. My rookie season.” 

“What happened?” 

“What, do you want, like _details_?” Johnny asks, sitting up from where she’s slouched into the couch. Bailey wakes up, glaring at her, before jumping off the couch. Johnny hears her nails clicking on the floor as she walks out of the room and up the stairs. 

“What?” Chucky asks, confused. “No! I meant—How did it end?” 

“Oh,” Johnny says on an exhale, relaxing back into the couch. “She met Britt.” 

Chucky looks like he wants to say something, face gone serious and tight, but he doesn’t. Johnny feels flushed and jittery and kind of like she wants to ask him to leave. 

“It’s cool with me, you know?” he says, then adds, “Not that it has to be. But like, it’s cool with me that you, like, also like girls.”

Johnny watches him stumble over his words, amused. He’s biting his lip and being so _earnest_ and trying to project _I’m a chill dude I promise_ vibes. It works. 

“Thanks, Chuck.” 

“I’m not going to be weird about it.”

“Okay,” Johnny says, laughing.

“I promise,” he says. “I know that’s a thing, and like, I won’t.”

“I believe you,” she says, smiling at him. He eases closer to her slowly and she lets him, relaxing into his side when he puts his arm around her.

“Who else knows?” he asks. 

“Mony, obviously,” she says. “And Gio, for Mony reasons.” Chucky nods. “Dumo. And Kevin.” 

Chucky hums. “Ah, yes. Kevin.”

She pulls back to look at him. “What do you know about Kevin?” she asks.

“What don’t I know about Kevin,” he says. “We hang out at the Cape every summer with the family. I know all about him and Brady and Jimmy.” 

“So you know that it like, kind of ended.” 

Chucky frowns. “Yeah, I know about that.”

Johnny frowns back. “Sucks.”

Chucky nods and pulls Johnny in tighter so she’s tucked into his chest.

“Not your family?” he asks, finally.

Johnny sighs. “My siblings know. I think my dad suspects. Mom, though, she’s clueless.”

“Not gonna tell them?”

“Maybe,” she says, shrugging. “Dad would be fine with it. Mom, though… I don’t know. She’s not, like, homophobic. She just wouldn’t understand.”

Chucky hums. “Yeah. I think I get that.”

Johnny looks up at him, and while she can’t see his face fully, his expression is easy to read. He looks lost.

“Chucky—” 

“Don’t. Just. Not tonight.”

“Okay,” Johnny says, tucking herself back into his chest. He’s warm and comforting as ever under her cheek, but his breathing is uneven and his heart is beating wildly. 

She says nothing.

—

The next few weeks are a rollercoaster of wins and losses. Just when she thinks they’re building up to something good, they fall short. Sometimes it’s goaltending. Sometimes it’s defense. Sometimes they just don’t fucking click out there. 

She tries not to get too down on herself, when she fails to produce for multiple games in a row. And when she has a four point night against Vegas, she tries not to let that go to her head either.

Thanksgiving comes and goes, with her hosting the other Americans at hers for the first time. She doesn’t cook, and everyone is glad for it, but she caters, and it’s nice. She feels warm and happy and just, full up. Her place feels like a home for the first time.

(And if she fucks Chucky on the couch after everyone’s left, it’s just the icing on the cake. 

“Thanks for helping me clean up,” she says, after she’s climbed off of him. 

“Is that why you jumped me as soon as I sat down?” he asks, panting. “Cleaning gets you hot?” 

Johnny laughs. “No, but like,” she does a complicated gesture with her hand. “I like it when people do things for me.”

“Okay, G, whatever you say,” he says, smiling, before he kisses her.)

—

Johnny’s never been one to let things go. She dwells and holds grudges and is incapable of minding her own business. She’s curious. 

It’s why she can’t stop thinking about Chucky and the night she’d kind-of-sort-of come out to him. 

He hadn’t come out, too, exactly.

But he’d implied things.

Things that Johnny now couldn’t stop thinking about. She couldn’t ask Kevin about it, because Kevin knew who she was hooking up with, and outing someone without their permission wasn’t chill. Especially if that person wasn’t actually not-straight to begin with.

She texts Segs.

_ have u ever hooked up with a bi guy before? _

Segs starts replying immediately before stopping, then starting up again, then stopping, then starting up again, before stopping one last time. Johnny’s about to throw her phone down, when her phone starts ringing.

_Tyler FUCKING Seguin!!!!_  

The picture on the screen is one Segs had taken of herself during that first All-Star Game they’d spent together. Extreme MySpace angle, peace sign, tongue out, eyes closed, and tits pushed up and together as high as she could get them. Johnny barely remembers it, thanks to the jägerbombs.

“Hey,” she answers, aiming for nonchalant. 

“Can we FaceTime?” Segs asks. 

“Why, got a new tattoo you want to show off?”

“No,” Tyler huffs down the line. “Okay, _yes_.”  

Johnny laughs, but accepts readily when the request comes through.

From what Johnny can see, Tyler’s naked in bed. Her sheets are pulled up and tucked under her arms and her hair is a fucking _mess_ , gone long and curly this season, and knotted up on her head in a bun she clearly slept in. She’s still one of the most beautiful girls Johnny has ever seen. It’s _so_ unfair. 

“Babes…” Tyler says, “you can’t shoot me a text like that without giving me all the deets. Spill.” 

“There’s not really any details to share,” Johnny says. “It’s complicated.” 

“Ugh,” Tyler whines, slouching further into her bed. Gerry flops into frame to give her a kiss. She smiles, cooing at the dog for a few moments, forgetting about Johnny altogether. 

“So tell me what you do know,” Tyler says, pushing Gerry away. An equally tattooed arm comes into frame, wrapping around Segs’ waist, and petting Gerry softly. 

“Who’s that?” Johnny hears a soft voice ask. 

“Just Johnny, babe, go back to sleep,” Segs says, voice impossibly fond. 

“Toews?” 

“Hockey.”

The other person hums and Tyler smiles at them. She turns her gaze back on Johnny and raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow at her, daring her to say anything.

Johnny clears her throat. “So, I’m hooking up with this guy.” Tyler motions for her to keep going. “And I came out to him after he met Mony.” 

“Meeting the team, that’s big.” 

Johnny bites her lip and nods.

“Yeah, and like, I explained why I wasn’t out to my family. And he said that he like, understood that. And kind of, maybe, like, implied that he was bi? Or that he was, at least, not straight.”

“Okay,” Segs sighs. She scratches at her arm absentmindedly, and Johnny can’t help but stare at all her tattoos. God, she wishes she could be that _cool_. 

“And so you need, what, advice on how to handle it?”

“Well, yeah, I guess. Like should I ask him about it?”

Tyler hums. “Maybe not. I mean, the best plan is probably just to be there for him, you know? Let him tell you when he’s ready. If he’s ready.”

“Yeah,” Johnny agrees. She knows Segs is right, but also, she’s not patient. It’s _eating_ at her, not knowing. “It’s just so hard, you know? I wanna know.”

“Oh babe, I _know_. But you like this guy, right?” 

“It’s complicated…”

Segs squints her eyes at her before shaking her head. “You like this guy. Give him _time_.”

Johnny sighs. Tyler’s right. It’s what she’d want, after all, if she was still figuring things out.

“Good, it’s settled. You wait.” Tyler nods once, like she’s just solved all of Johnny’s problems—and who knows, maybe she has. 

“Now, show me your baby, and I’ll show you my new titty tat.”

Johnny laughs, before pulling Bailey into frame. 

—

Christmas kind of sneaks up on her. Unlike usual, she’s not spending it with Mony and Britt. She’s heading home to surprise her family for her first Christmas at home in years. 

“Wait, so you’re not going to be here?” Mony asks, looking a little surprised. 

“No, I’m headed home. Kristen just had another baby, and I wanna spend time with them, you know?” She feels a little embarrassed, like her decision to not stick around Calgary may be rude. Like not wanting to watch Sean and Britt be painfully cute and domestic is selfish.

“No, no, it’s fine. Have fun,” Sean says. “Bailey is more than welcome to spend Christmas with us.”

Johnny smiles at that, heart flipping in her chest. “Take good care of my girl?” 

“Always,” Sean says, smiling, and Johnny has to look away.

—

They lose to the Blues at home. It’s not an embarrassing loss, but to lose in your own barn right before Christmas? It leaves Johnny feeling a little put out.

She’s drying off after her shower when the door to the change room opens. 

“Naked,” she says, figuring it’s Mony coming back or one of the young guys being rude. Gio and the older guys would knock first.

“No, you’re not,” Chucky says, forcing her to turn around.

“You’re lucky Mony’s not in here. She’d kick your ass for just walking in.” 

“Saw her out there,” he says, thumbing over his shoulder. “And I figure since I’ve already seen you naked that it’s not a big deal.”

“Should still knock,” she sing-songs.

He walks backward over to the door, knocking on the frame to be a smartass. “Can I come in?”

Johnny stares at him, unimpressed, before dropping her towel.

“Did you need something?” she asks, pulling her underwear on, followed by her dress shirt. 

When she looks up at Chucky, she finds him watching her, lips parted.

“Yes, Matthew?”

“Can I come over?” 

“I leave pretty early tomorrow.”

“I know,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “That’s why I wanted to come over.”

She nods. “Okay, sure.” 

He watches as she finishes getting dressed, before following her out of the room and into the hallway. 

“I gotta pick Bailey up and drop her off at Mony’s, but after?”

“Text me when you’re ready.” He nods, backing away down the hall—right as Mony rounds the corner with Britt in tow. Johnny groans. 

“Hey guys,” Mony says, smiling. Her arm is wrapped tight around Britt’s shoulders. “You getting out of here soon?”

They both nod, exchanging brief glances. 

“Yeah, I got a, uh, thing,” Matthew says, thumbing over his shoulder towards the men’s locker room.

Mony narrows her eyes at him before pursing her lips. 

“Right,” she says, drawn out and long like she really, really doesn’t want to know.

“Johnny,” Britt says, suddenly, pulling Johnny’s attention to her. She’s beautiful and Johnny hates it. All perfectly curled blonde hair and perfectly tanned skin and perfectly perfect _everything_. “I heard you’re going home for Christmas this year. That’s so amazing. I bet your family is _thrilled_.” She smiles at Johnny and Johnny has to swallow back her reaction, forcing a smile instead. She nods. “We’re so excited to have Bailey. Winston just loves having someone to play with, you know? We’ve thought about getting another but with Sean gone all the time—”

Johnny’s eyes glaze over. It’s not that Johnny doesn’t like Britt—it’s just that… Johnny doesn’t like Britt. She’s bubbly and sweet and pretty and _kind_ and perfect for Sean in every possible way.  

“—you know?” Britt asks, looking at Johnny expectantly. 

Johnny’s eyes snap to Britt’s. “Totally,” she says, smiling her million watt smile at Britt, who smiles back, none the wiser. 

“Well,” Sean says, “we should get going. Gotta walk Winston before you bring Bailey over.” 

She looks at Johnny now, pointed and vaguely annoyed, like she usually is when Johnny’s in the same room as Britt. Johnny can practically hear Sean’s voice, all the times she’s reminded Johnny that “Britt really likes you” — as if that made things any easier for Johnny.

“See you soon,” Johnny mumbles as Sean and Britt walk past them and down the hall.

She and Chucky stand there in silence, waiting until they’ve rounded the corner until they head off in that direction too. 

“So, Britt?” Chucky says, casting an appraising look over Johnny.

Johnny groans. “She’s fine. She’s just—” Johnny shrugs. 

“She’s always seemed nice to me,” Chucky offers, like he has any right to.

“Of course she does,” Johnny sighs, rolling her eyes. “Didn’t you have something to get from the locker room?”

Chucky stops in the middle of the hallway. Johnny pulls up, spinning around to look at him. His gaze is calculating and Johnny doesn’t like it one bit.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes narrowed. “See you in a bit?” 

Johnny nods, turning and heading back down the hallway, throwing, “You know where to find me.” over her shoulder.

—

Chucky’s car is already in her driveway when she gets back from dropping Bailey off. She’d only texted Matthew 15 minutes before letting him know that she was headed home.

“Couldn’t wait?”

“No,” he admits.

Johnny unlocks her door as fast as she can, before pulling him over the threshold. She kisses him, right there in the doorway, hands fisted in the soft sweater he’s wearing, dragging him in as tight as she can.

“Jesus, Johnny, let me get the door closed first.” He donkey kicks it shut, kissing her up against the wall, before following her into the living room to settle down on the couch. 

“When do you leave?” she asks.

“Tomorrow around noon.” 

“Excited?” 

He hums. “Yeah, really excited. It’s weird, even being in London and the NTDP, this is the longest I’ve ever gone without seeing Brady.”

“You miss him?”

“Sometimes. He’s one of my best friends. I’d kill him, but I’d kill for him, you know?” 

“I do,” Johnny agrees. “One of four.” 

“All girls, right?”  

Johnny hums. “Yep.”

“Jesus,” he says, sliding further down the couch.

“Kristen’s got two babies, you know, so mom’s happy about that. She’s off my back for a while, at least.” 

Chucky quirks a brow. “Oh yeah? She get onto you about that?”

“Kind of,” Johnny sighs. “Just kind of whines like, _‘I’m not getting any younger, Jeannette. It’d be nice if I got grandchildren from all of my girls.’_ Shit like that.”

“Jeannette,” Chucky says, like he’d forgotten, fucking beaming.

“Ugh, don’t start.”

“How’d you get to Johnny?” he asks, turning towards her. He props his head up on his fist and looks at her, eyes shining. He’s so fucking cute it makes her angry.

“Never really liked Jeannette or Jean. We’re Jersey, you know, so Jeannette kinda has that ‘John’ sound sometimes. I don’t know. Some of the guys on the team growing up started calling me Johnny and it just stuck.”

“It suits you.” 

Johnny smiles, blushing a little. She tucks her feet under Matthew’s thighs and leans forward to press her lips to his once, before swinging her leg over his and surging into his space. 

“Missed this,” he mumbles against her lips. They haven’t done this in a couple of weeks, not since Chicago, when Johnny had fucked Chucky in his hotel room while Keith was down at the bar with the other dads on the trip. She’d felt like a teenager again, sneaking into a boy’s room after school, praying to every God she could think of that his parents didn’t come home before they finished. 

“Yeah?” she asks, kissing down his jaw and mouthing at the soft skin behind his ear. 

He nods, humming softly.

“What, your other hookups not cutting it?” she asks, mostly joking.

Chucky pulls back and looks her in the eyes. “I’m not hooking up with anybody else.”

“Oh,” she says, sitting back on his thighs. His brows are drawn, mouth set in a pout.

“Wait, are you?” 

“No,” she admits, and Chucky does this shy little half smile thing, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to like that she’s not fucking anyone else.

“Cool,” he says, cheeks flushed.

She kisses him again, softer than before, slower. He moans when she slips her tongue into his mouth, fingers going tight on her hips. 

“What do you want to do tonight?” she asks him.

“I don’t know,” he says. 

“You haven’t thought about what you’d want to do with me?”

“I mean, _yeah_ , of course I have.”

“And? What’s at the top of your list?”

He bites his lip, glancing away from her. The lights from her Christmas tree dance across his face. 

“I’ve kind of been thinking a lot about you tying me up,” he admits.

“You want me to tie you up?” she asks.

He nods.

“Okay,” Johnny says, smiling. “I can do that.”

She kisses him once to reassure him, before pulling back.

“I’ll tie you up and ride you. Sound okay?” 

He nods, lips parted. 

“If at any time you want me to stop, you’ll tell me, right?”

He nods again, looking overwhelmed.

“Do you know about safe words? I doubt we’ll need them tonight, but—” 

“Yes,” he says. “I googled.” 

“You googled?”

“Being tied up. I—I did some research.” 

Johnny can’t help the smile that spreads across her face. “You _researched_.”

Chucky’s cheeks flush _hard_ , going red and splotchy all across his face and down his neck.

 “Don’t be embarrassed,” she says, running her hands along his jaw.

“Pretzels,” he lisps.

“What?” Johnny asks. 

“My safe word.”

“Pretzels,” she says. He nods. “Okay, I can work with that.”

— 

Chucky’s really keyed up from the moment Johnny gets him onto her bed. 

“So, you’re like, really into this,” she says as she secures the restraint around his other wrist.

“Yeah,” he all but sighs.

“Have you done this before?” she asks.

“No,” he admits.

“Okay, well, I’m only going to do your wrists. We’ll do your legs another time.”

He doesn’t say anything, but nods, eyes a little wide.

“How’s that feel?” Johnny asks when she’s secured both of his wrists. He tugs on them a little. 

“Fine.”

“Not too tight?”

“No, it’s—it’s perfect.” 

“Good,” Johnny says, before getting off the bed, stripping down quickly with her back turned. When she turns around, she’s struck by just how good he looks, naked and hard and propped up against her pillows and _tied up_ in her bed.

She straddles his thighs, condom in hand, before asking, “You ready?”

“Yes,” he breathes out.

“Good,” she says, opening the condom carefully, before rolling it on. He strains under her hand, shaking, like just this is enough to send him over the edge. A flush spreads quickly down his chest, and Johnny’s overcome by just how much she wants him. 

She feels molten when she finally grasps his cock and sinks down onto it, hissing at how it feels to finally get him inside her again. Above her, Chucky moans, head thrown back, teeth biting into his lip. 

“God, you always feel so fucking good,” she tells him, kissing down the column of his throat. 

His arms are tense where they’re stretched out next to his body, hands clenched into fists.

“Relax,” Johnny says, smoothing her hands over his arms. “I’ve got you.”

Slowly, she starts to move, working herself into a rhythm. She can’t help but stare at Chucky, stretched out in front of her, so flushed and so fucking pretty and all for her. 

Johnny tells him as much and he moans, raising his knees behind her so he can start fucking up into her. It’s good. _Really_ good. 

She reaches down between them to thumb at her clit, hand bumping against him where he’s disappearing inside her. Matthew groans, thrusts faltering. 

His mouth falls open and she can’t stop staring at it—how wet and shiny his lips are. She pulls her hand away from herself, slipping her fingers into his mouth, crooking them slightly to press down on his tongue. Chucky moans, eyes slipping shut. He sucks on them lightly. 

“Can you taste me?” 

He moans again, tongue swirling around her fingers.

“You love it, don’t you?”

He looks up at her through his pretty fucking eyelashes, eyes glazed, and her heart thuds in her chest. 

Johnny leans in close, sucking on his earlobe, before saying, “I’m going to gag you someday.”

He groans, thrusting up into her hard. Her head lolls to the side, toes curling from how good it feels to have him get this deep.  

“Would you like that?” she asks, voice shaking, thighs shaking. “Tied up like this, gagged so you can’t say anything?” He nods, face red, saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth and down his chin.

She pulls her fingers out, gripping him by the chin so he’s forced to look at her. 

“You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?” He nods, mouth hanging open. His tongue is so fucking pink. “As long as it makes your dick hard, huh? You’d let me just ruin you.”

Chucky moans, closing his eyes as she grinds down onto his dick. 

“I asked you a fucking question, Matthew.” His eyes snap to her. “You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” he lisps out. “Anything.” 

She stares at him for a moment, taking in how fucking earnest he looks. 

“You just want to be good for me, don’t you?” she asks.

“ _Yes_ ,” he hisses out, arms straining against the bonds. 

“Good,” she says, before leaning in to kiss him roughly. 

When he comes, he’s not quiet at all, head thrown back, neck straining, moans punched out of him, and Johnny can’t get enough of it. She rides him through it, thumbing at her clit, clenching around him. 

He hisses, arms pulling at the bonds, way too sensitive for her to keep going.

“Almost, almost,” she promises. She comes a moment later, shaking through it as she collapses onto him.  

Later, after she’s undone the restraints, she wraps herself around him, holding him tight to her. 

“Did you like that?” she asks.

“Yeah. A lot.” He’s clinging to her a little, and she likes that more than she cares to admit. 

She kisses his chest in response, before sucking a small mark onto the hollow of his throat.

“Thought you said no marks?” 

“No marks on _me_.” 

“That doesn’t seem fair,” he says. 

“People won’t question it if you have a hickey,” she says. “If _I_ show up to the locker room with a hickey, the guys will flip.”

“That’s probably true,” he admits. “Still. Wouldn’t mind it.”

“What, leaving your mark on me?” 

“Well, yeah,” he says, smiling at her, big and gappy and so goddamn eager her heart hurts.

And Johnny has to admit, that, yeah, she’d like that a lot too. Maybe in another life.  

“Stay?” she offers.

“I shouldn’t,” he says, but he sounds so sleepy and soft and content, that she’s not sure he’ll make it out of her bed. 

She’s not sure she wants him to. 

“Hey,” she says after a while. She thinks Chucky might be asleep, but she’s not entirely certain.

Chucky hums in response, arm tightening around her. 

“Will you do something for me?” she asks.

“Anything,” he says, sitting up in bed and following her as she leads him into her bathroom.

—

“I used to do this for friends,” Chucky explains, hands gentle on the base of Johnny’s neck as he tips her head forward. Her thick hair is piled on top of her head, exposing the rapidly grown out undercut she’s been trying to hide for the past month or so. She feels the buzz of the clippers before they touch her neck, the hum familiar and soothing. 

“Yeah?” she asks. 

“Yeah. It was easier in the program, for us to just give each other shitty buzz cuts.” 

“Oh, so you’re going to give me a shitty undercut?” she asks, teasing.

“Probably,” he admits, but in the mirror she can see that he’s smiling.

They’re quiet for a few moments, nothing but the sound of the clippers and their breathing filling up the bathroom. It’s intimate, really. Trusting Chucky like this. Trusting him to not fuck up.

“I used to have really long hair,” she says. Chucky hums briefly, tongue sticking out in concentration. “I thought it was something I could hide behind. That people wouldn’t figure out that I was bisexual if I was really girly.” 

Chucky stops, shutting off the clippers. He meets her eyes in the mirror and she knows he gets how important this is. How important it is for her to be telling him this, all of this. 

“But after Mony…” Johnny shrugs, “it was easier. I just… knew who I was. There wasn’t any doubt anymore. I didn’t want to hide from it. So I cut all my hair off and Mony gave me an undercut.” 

“I remember,” Chucky says. Johnny quirks a brow. “Pictures,” he explains. “It looked cool.” 

“Yeah, it was cool,” she agrees, thinking about how she’d turned up to the home opener, waist length hair gone, replaced by a chin-length bob and undercut. 

Chucky’s face does something complicated. He looks conflicted and confused and a little hurt, too, and Johnny thinks she understands why. 

He picks up the clippers again and sets about finishing Johnny’s hair.

“Luke used to do this for me in the program,” he says, voice so quiet that Johnny has to strain to hear him over the buzzing of the clippers. 

“Luke?”

“Kunin. He was… is... one of my closest friends. We played together as kids and were in the program together.” He’s quiet for another moment or so, switching guards out and shaping the hair on Johnny’s neck.

“He used to cut my hair in the bathroom at his billet family’s house.”

He looks so far away and something about the look on his face makes Johnny _ache_. 

“Was it like this?” she asks, hoping that he’ll understand what she’s asking.

He nods. “It was a lot like this.”

She doesn’t ask anymore questions, though she has approximately a thousand cycling through her mind. 

When he’s done, he shuts off the clippers, sets them on the counter, and picks up a towel to wipe down Johnny’s neck and shoulders. He steps up close behind her, nosing at the soft, freshly shorn hair on the back of her head, kissing her neck, before sucking hard, just below her hairline. 

“ _Hey_ ,” Johnny protests. “No marks, Matthew.” She reaches behind herself to grab a fistful of his hair, which only causes him to groan and suck harder, biting softly before pulling away. She can feel him smiling against her neck and it shouldn’t work for her, but it _does_. God, it does. 

“You little _shit_ ,” she says when he stands up, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his chin into the top of her head. He’s smiling back at her in the mirror and she can’t help the smile that blooms on her face too. 

“You like it,” he says, smiling bigger. She rolls her eyes, elbowing him softly.

Yeah. She does like it.

—

Johnny’s alarm goes off _painfully_ early the next morning. She groans, slapping at her phone, before closing her eyes again, if only for a minute. Chucky’s wrapped tight around her, face buried in her hair, feet tangled with hers.

She feels so warm and safe and cared for and it’s altogether too much, the way he makes her feel.

He stirs when she rolls over in his arms, eyelashes fluttering on his cheeks.  

“Matthew?” she says, trailing her fingers along his cheek and jaw.

He hums. 

“I have to get up now.” 

His arms tighten around her, head ducking down to nuzzle her neck. “Don’t wanna.”

“I have to and so do you.” 

He squeezes her one last time, pressing a kiss to her collarbone, before rolling away from her. They get out of bed and dress silently in the darkness of her room. He watches, leaned up against the wall, as she fixes her bed.

“So, you’re like, a _real_ adult, then.”

“Why do you say that?” 

He gestures to where she’s settling throw pillows on her bed.

“Oh. I guess,” she says, standing back. It is a bit much, but she really just doesn’t want her decorator to be disappointed in her.

Matthew carries her bag down the stairs and out to the garage where he loads it into her truck while she locks up.

“This is for you,” he says, handing her a small, hastily wrapped box. 

“For me?” Her brows furrow. “But I didn’t get you anything.” 

“That’s okay,” he says on an exhale. It’s cold in her garage and she can see their breath clouding in the small space between them. “Just, open it later, okay?” 

“Okay,” she promises, putting it in her carry-on for safekeeping. 

“Gonna miss you,” he says, hugging her close.

“It’s just four days, Chuck.”

“I know.”

He kisses her softly, softer than he has any right to, before tucking her hair behind her ears.  

“Have a good Christmas, Jeannette.”

He dodges her hand when she reaches out to slap at him, laughing as he walks out of the garage and to his car. She watches as he pulls out of the driveway before getting in her truck and leaving. 

—

Johnny passes out the moment she gets to her seat, waking only when they land in Newark. Maddy is waiting for her at baggage claim, arms wide, smile wider.

“Jeeeesus, you look like shit,” she says, throwing her arm around Johnny’s neck.

“Look who’s talking,” she says, yanking on Maddy’s long ponytail, hair clearly unwashed.

They shove at each other for a few moments, before grabbing Johnny’s bag off the carousel and walking out to Maddy’s car.

“Anyone suspicious?" 

“Nobody.”

“Not even when you left the house before noon?” 

“Fuck you,” Maddy says, laughing. “Told mom I was going to see some friends.”

“And she bought it?”

Maddy puffs up her chest. “I’m a grown woman now, Johnny. Mom can’t tell me what to do.” 

Johnny’s silent, letting Maddy have her moment, before giggling. “Yeah, okay, sure.”

They talk about the team Maddy’s been playing for and how she’s hoping to get called up to the AHL soon. It’s looking good for her.

“Proud of you,” Johnny says, punching her lightly.

Maddy smiles, eyes on the road, but glowing with how happy she is. 

The journey south isn’t long, but it’s long enough for Johnny to fall asleep again. Maddy nudges her awake when they get home, brow quirking when Johnny says, “Just resting my eyes.”

“Okay, _dad_ ,” she says, turning the car off and getting out.

“Where are we?” Johnny had expected to be in the driveway, but looking around, it doesn’t look anything like their street.

“We’re on Mulberry,” Maddy says. The next street over. Smart. “Figured we’d walk through the Paglia’s yard. I texted dad to see if mom needed anything, but he said she’s in the shower. We’re safe.”

Sneaking through the neighbor’s yard and into theirs is easy, as is walking through the backdoor. Johnny’s just pouring herself a cup of coffee when their dad walks in. 

“Maddy, did you get—oh my _god_ , your mother is going to lose her _mind_ when she sees you,” he says, drawing Johnny in close, patting her back. “Oh, I’ve missed you.”

“Just saw me.” It hadn’t even been three weeks since the dads’ trip, but she had to admit, it was good to see him. She worried about him. About her mom too, but especially him.

“Don’t see you nearly enough.” He squeezes her tight before grabbing her bag and taking it upstairs. 

Jane comes into the kitchen a little while later, hair wrapped up in a towel, donning the same plaid robe she’s had Johnny’s entire life. She’s humming to herself, not paying any attention.

“Hey,” Johnny says. Jane jumps, spinning around to look at Johnny where she’s leaning against the island.

Johnny’s not sure what she’s expecting, maybe for her mom to yell or to scream. She’s not expecting her to burst into tears.

“Ah, jeez, ma. Don’t cry,” Johnny says, stepping forward to wrap her mom up in a hug. She clings to Johnny, like she’s afraid Johnny might not be real.

“Oh, all my girls in one place this year.” She leans back and cups Johnny’s cheeks, rubbing her thumbs across her cheekbones gently. “All my beautiful girls. Oh, I’m so happy.” 

“Good, I’m glad.”

“Ugh, you must be hungry. Let me make you something,” her mom says, throwing her hands up before pulling things out of the fridge.

Johnny watches, contently, as her mother bustles around the kitchen, pulling together a plate of pasta from the night before.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket, dragging her attention away from where her mother is filling her in on all the latest neighborhood gossip. 

There’s a text from Mony and Kevin, but the one from Chucky draws her attention.

**tkachuky cheese party** 😜  
_you pull off the surprise?_

**johnny**  
_flawlessly_

**tkachuky cheese party** 😜  
_screams?_

**johnny**  
_tears_

**tkachuky cheese party** 😜  
_wow_ 👌🏻  
_i’m impressed_

He sends a picture later of him and Taryn cuddled up close on the couch. The angle is awful for him, taken from approximately dick-height, but he’s smiling and so’s Taryn. It hasn’t even been twelve hours yet and she misses him and his stupid face. 

**johnny**  
_great angle_  
_love that for u_

**tkachuky cheese party** 😜  
🖕🏻

“Who’re you talking to Jeannette?” 

“Hm?” Johnny asks, looking up at her mother. She has one hand on her hip and her eyebrow is raised expectantly.

“You’re smiling an awful lot. Someone special?”

“Just Matthew.”

“Oh, just _Matthew_ this time.” She purses her lips. “You two are getting awfully close this season.” 

“I guess so,” she shrugs, pulling her feet up under herself. “We’ve always hung out, though, ma.”

“Mmhmm, I know. But not like this season.”

“What do you mean?” Johnny asks, feeling cornered.

“Seems like every time I call you’re with Matthew or just leaving Matthew’s or he’s at yours. I’m just saying. That’s an awful lot of time.” 

And the thing is, she’s not _wrong_. Even if she excluded all the times they hung out for fun, sexy reasons, she was still hanging out with Matthew a lot more this season than she ever had before. Her stomach flips.

“Mony’s just been busy with Britt a lot this season,” she says as an excuse. 

“Do you think they’ll get married?” Maddy asks.

“How should I know?” Johnny frowns. “I mean… I guess.” She doesn’t want to think about this. 

Her mom tsks. It’s been years since she first met Sean, and she’d relaxed a bit, but the fact that Sean is a lesbian was still hard for her. 

“Hey, everybody! I’m home. I backed into the mailbox again,” Katie says, coming in through the side door, taking the heat off of Johnny. 

“For Christ’s sake, Katherine. That’s the second time this month,” her mother says, all but running from the room. 

“Oh, hey, you made it,” Katie says, flopping down on the couch next to her. They watch TV in silence for a while, the three of them piled up together. They haven’t done anything like this since they were much younger, since Katie was just a little kid. It’s nice.

“Can we take a pic?”

“Like a selfie?” Maddy asks, frowning. Johnny doesn’t _do_ selfies. Not like her sisters.

“Yeah, like a selfie. Don’t have enough pictures of us all together,” she says, taking her phone out. Katie grabs it, thumbing through different filters before settling on one with butterflies.

“Send it to me, please,” Katie says, head propped on Johnny’s shoulder.

She sends it to both of them, before shooting it off to Chucky. 

**johnny**  
_three out of four ain’t bad_

**tkachuky cheese party** 😜  
_you all look the same_  
_ur the hot one tho_

Johnny doesn’t know what to do with that, so she just… doesn’t, shoving her phone deep into her pocket and forgetting about it.

—

It’s after midnight when she finally goes to bed. Her room is relatively unchanged, except for the fact that she no longer has to share with Maddy, a full-size bed replacing the two twins that had occupied the space for most of their lives. 

She’s unpacking her chargers from her carry-on when she sees it. The box had gotten a little squished in her bag, but the wrapping paper is still mostly intact. She tears into it, revealing an easily recognizable red box. She freezes, putting the box down before picking up her phone.

**johnny**  
_are you still awake?_

**maddy**  
_yea_  
_why?_

**johnny**  
_just get in here_

The door opens a few moments later, revealing Maddy in an oversized Boston College sweatshirt and sagging socks. She has a bright green face mask on, looking like Jim Carrey in _The_ _Mask_.

“What’s up?” she asks carefully.

“He got me Cartier.”

“Who got you what?”

“Matthew. He got me Cartier for Christmas.”

“ _What?_ ” Maddy’s face mask cracks.

She slips through the door, closing it behind her, before throwing herself on the bed beside Johnny. 

“Can I?” she asks, reaching out for the box.

Johnny nods. “I haven’t looked yet.”

She watches as Maddy carefully opens the box, keeping it angled away from Johnny. Her expression is unreadable. 

When she looks up, her eyes have gone all soft and Johnny really isn’t sure what she’s supposed to do with that. 

“Johnny…”

“What? What is it?”

“It’s really pretty,” she says, turning the box around. The gold necklace stands out on the black lining—a thin chain connected by two gold rings. It _is_ very pretty. And unlike anything Johnny’s ever had before. Unlike anything she would’ve picked for herself. Her stomach drops.

She hates how much she loves it.

Maddy lets the box go easily when Johnny reaches for it, flinching when Johnny snaps it shut and puts it on the nightstand. 

“Chucky gave that to you?”

Johnny nods.

“So you lied to mom earlier when you said nothing was going on.”

“Nothing _is_ going on,” Johnny says. “Or, well, it _is_ , but it _isn’t_.”

Maddy raises her eyebrow at her, face mask flakes falling all over her sweatshirt.

“We’ve been sleeping together since China—”

“Oh my _god_ —”

“—but that’s all!” 

“Jesus Christ, hold on,” Maddy says before leaving the room. She comes back a few moments later, face mask gone.

“Tell me everything.” 

Being the good slightly-older sister that she is, she does. She tells Maddy everything, from start to finish.

“Let me get this straight, you’ve had a thing for Matthew—” 

“I haven’t had a thing—” 

“ _A THING_ for Matthew since he was a rookie, and when you finally hooked up it was awful, but because you have _a thing_ for him, you let him hit it again? So he could, and I quote, ‘gain experience’?” 

Johnny blinks. “... Yes?”

“God, you’re messy.”

“I—I’m not _messy_.”

“You so are. Leave it to you to fall for two of your teammates.” 

Johnny feels thunderstruck.

“Not two. Just Mony.”

Maddy gives her a pointed look. “Okay, whatever you say, Johnny.” She pats Johnny’s thigh and stands up from the bed.

“Wait, what should I do about—” she gestures at the box. Maddy leans against the open door frame and shrugs. 

“I don’t know. Say ‘thank you’?” 

Johnny glares at her.

“Oh, great advice, Madison.”

Maddy just smiles big, flips her off, and closes the door behind her, leaving Johnny all alone with her confusion and the Cartier Love necklace sitting on her nightstand. 

—

She wakes up early the next morning, light already streaming through the blinds. Her head hurts and she feels exhausted mentally and physically. The red box on her nightstand is staring at her when she rolls over. Briefly, she considers texting Kevin about it, but she knows he’d _shit_ , so she doesn’t.

“Here goes nothing,” she sighs, grabbing the box from the nightstand and opening it. In the morning light, it gleams bright yellow. It really _is_ quite pretty.  

With gentle hands, she pulls it from the box, unclasping it, and fastening it around her neck. It feels feather-light where it settles on her chest just beneath her collarbones. 

She thumbs open her phone and flips the camera around to take a look. 

Johnny’s always thought that she looked kind of birdlike with her pointy features—not bad, just not delicate. She thinks the necklace would look better on someone else, a girl with a button nose and soft features. That Matthew had seen it and thought of _her_ and bought it for _her_ … she doesn’t even know where to begin dissecting how _that_ makes her feel.

She pulls her shirt over her head, settles down in the blankets, and arranges the necklace just so, before taking a picture. It’s a close up, with only her mouth, neck, and chest in frame, and it’s kind of artistic—if she does say so herself—with light slanting through the blinds.

She sends it to Matthew before she can think twice about it.

—

In the Gaudreau household, Christmas Eve is for Christmas cookies. After breakfast, she, Maddy, and Katie crowd around the kitchen making dozens and dozens of cookies while their mom supervises from where she’s perched on a barstool.

For some godforsaken reason, her mother has put her in charge of the pizzelles. She spends _hours_ pressing them and baking them while Maddy and Katie get to have fun making sugar cookies and icing stupid little designs on them. 

When round six are in the oven, her mother comes over and puts her arm around Johnny, pressing her chin to Johnny’s shoulder.

“Oh, Johnny, these look beautiful,” she says, though Johnny knows that some of them are way too dark.

“Thanks, mom.”

“Look at my baby girl, all grown up.”

“I’m your second oldest, ma.” 

“I know that, Jeannette, but you’ll always be my baby,” she says, sounding choked up. “I just miss you so much this time of year.”

“I know. Me too.” Her mom hugs her, arms wrapped tight around her. She holds on so long that Johnny starts laughing and has to push her away when the timer goes off.  

Johnny’s bent over the oven, checking on the cookies, when the necklace slips out of her sweatshirt. It swings in front of her face, like it’s taunting her.

“What’s that?” her mother asks. 

“Nothing,” Johnny says, shoving the necklace back into her shirt, before pulling the cookies out of the oven.

“Jeannette Michelle.” When she turns, her mother has her hands on her hips, and Johnny knows she’s well and truly fucked.

“It’s just a necklace, mom.” 

“Let me see it,” she says, crooking her finger at Johnny before coming close. She threads her finger under the chain, pulling it loose and holding it up for inspection. 

“Is this new?”

“Yes.”

“Was it a _gift_?” she asks, one thin eyebrow raised.

“...Yes,” she says, shoulders dropping forward.

“Awfully nice gift.”

Johnny nods, grabbing the necklace from her mom and slipping it back under her shirt.

“You better be nice to that boy, Jeannette,” her mom says, wagging a finger at her. “Getting you a gift like that… must be special.” 

“Or rich,” Katie says around a mouthful of cookie. 

Johnny points at her in agreement. 

“Don’t make a big deal out of it, ma. It’s just a gift between friends.” 

Jane throws her hands up. “Ugh, you’re _impossible_. I don’t know why you girls treat me like this,” she says, before leaving the room.

“Cartier, huh?” Katie asks, sidling up next to her. 

“You told her?” Johnny asks, spinning around to look at Maddy.

Maddy shrugs, licking icing off her fingers.

“Please teach me your ways,” Katie says, fake begging, complete with clasped hands. “Teach me how to get boys to buy me Cartier.”

Johnny thinks about how it feels to get her mouth on Chucky, how he feels when he’s inside her, how he looks when he’s flushed and tied up in her bed. Maddy makes a lewd gesture behind Katie’s back, waggling her eyebrows the whole time. 

Johnny shakes her head and crosses her arms. “No, absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on, please? I’m eighteen now, I can handle it.”

“You’re my baby sister, _no_.”

“She wants you to have weak pussy game, Kate,” Maddy says around a sandwich she’s manifested from somewhere.

“No, I _don’t_ ,” Johnny says, trying to talk her way out of this.

“You do, too,” Katie says, pouting.

“I don’t want you to _have_ pussy game at all.” 

“See,” Maddy says, egging Katie on. “C’mon, Johnny, tell Katie how you put the pussy on Matthew.”

Johnny blinks. “Will you _stop_ saying _pussy_? How is this even a conversation we’re having right now?”

“Whose pussy what now?” Kristen asks, coming into the kitchen where she’s dragging her oldest through the door by one hand, her youngest carried in the other.

Johnny sees an out and takes it, scooping Logan up and escaping into the living room where her mother is watching _The Holiday_ and drinking coffee.

“Don’t think this is over, Johnny!” Katie shouts as she rushes out of the room.

—

Matthew texts her later that afternoon. She’s half asleep on the couch, Logan laying on her chest, snoring softly. She’d nearly forgotten about the ill-advised selfie she’d sent this morning and her cheeks heat when she sees it again.

**tkachuky cheese party** 😜  
🙈🤤  
_do you like it?_

 **johnny**  
_yes_  
_it’s too much_  
_thank you_

 **tkachuky cheese party** 😜  
_ur welcome_  
_looks good on you_

Johnny’s head swims. She could respond to that text in a thousand different ways, each of them feels more wrong than the one preceding it. She sends him a picture of her holding baby Logan instead and he sends one back of him holding Brady in a headlock. 

She saves it before she can overthink it.

—

Maddy crawls into bed with her late that night. 

“Can’t sleep,” she says. “Can I stay here?”

“As long as you don’t put your cold feet on me.”

“Deal.”

She’s quiet for a while after that, so quiet that when she speaks, Johnny’s startled, having assumed she was asleep.

“How do you get over someone?” she whispers.

“Why do you ask?”

She rolls over towards Johnny and Johnny does the same. They can’t see each other in the dark, but like this, she can pretend they’re fourteen and fifteen again, whispering secrets across the space between their twin-sized beds. 

“Michael and I broke up.”

“Oh, Maddy, I’m so—”

“It’s okay. The distance was getting hard, and like, who ends up with their high school sweetheart anyway?”

Johnny knows she’s trying to play it cool, but she can hear it in her voice, how bad she’s hurting, how hard she’s holding back the tears.

“I don’t know how to get over someone,” she admits.

Maddy makes a confused sound. “But Mony—”

Johnny laughs softly. “Yeah, that’s… complicated.” 

“Oh shit, I just thought—it’s been a really _long_ time, Johnny.”

“Yeah. It has.” 

They’re both quiet for a while, listening to each other breathing and the sound of the heat whistling through the vents. 

“Does it get easier?” Maddy asks. 

“Not really, but I’m around all the time, you know?” 

“Yeah. I don’t have to see Michael ever again if I don’t want to.” 

“Right,” Johnny reaches across the blanket to squeeze Maddy’s hand. “I’m really sorry, bud. That sucks.” 

“Yeah. It does,” she agrees. And then— “Don’t tell mom. She really likes Michael and I just… I want to wait to tell her after Christmas.”

Johnny nods. “Yeah, of course. I would never.”

As they’re falling asleep, Maddy puts her ice cold feet on Johnny’s shins. Brat. 

—

Jane is the only person awake when Johnny trudges down the stairs. Her hair is still pinned up and she has her robe on, cup of coffee steaming in one hand, paper held in the other. Johnny feels like a little girl again, sneaking downstairs early on Christmas morning. 

“Morning,” she croaks as she shuffles towards the coffee.

“You’re up awfully early, Jeannette.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Something on your mind?”

“No, Maddy kept kicking me all night.”

Jane laughs. “She does still do that.” She smiles as she watches Johnny fixing her coffee, picking up a couple of cookies for breakfast. “Why did the two of you share last night? Thought you two would like having separate rooms now.”

Johnny hums. “Fell asleep talking, like old times.”

“You two always were attached at the hip. More like twins than anything else.”

She brushes hair back off Johnny’s face, thumb rubbing over her cheek. Before she can settle back into her coffee and paper, Johnny pulls an envelope out of her pocket. 

“This is for you and dad.”

She blinks. “What is it?”

“Just open it,” she says, pushing the envelope across the table.

Johnny’s arranged for her parents to go on a two-week Caribbean cruise in February, just the two of them. With four kids, it had been near impossible to take any vacations growing up, let alone one that was just for the two of them.

“Should I wait for your dad?” she asks. 

“No, go ahead.”

She watches as her mom opens the envelope, reading over the tickets and the itinerary. When Jane looks up, her eyes are wet, and her lips are pursed. 

“Oh, Jeannette, this is _too_ much.”

“You guys deserve it,” she says. Jane hums. “I mean it, you and dad deserve a trip, just the two of you.”

“Well, I suppose,” her mother says, sniffling. “I’m gonna go tell your dad.”

Johnny watches as she gathers everything up, heading down the hall to the master bedroom.

The day passes quickly in a flurry of food and presents and family. Johnny’s heart feels fuller than it has in ages.

She’s in the kitchen after dinner when her dad sneaks up on her. 

“That was a very nice thing, Johnny,” he says. “What you did for your mother and I.” 

“You’re welcome, dad. It’s the least I could do.” He nods, understanding completely Johnny’s desire to take care of the family. 

He pours another glass of wine for himself and one for Johnny too, clinking her glass before taking a long sip.

“You still happy in Calgary?”

Johnny nods. “Very. We’ve got something special this year.”

“Good, good,” Guy pats her on the back. “You know you can come to me with anything, Johnny, right?”

“Of course, dad,” Johnny says, brows furrowing.

“I’m not going to pry, like your mom. She does it because she cares, you know? You’re more like me than the others. I know you need time to think things over,” he rubs her back in small, tight circles, like he did when she was a kid. “But I’m here to listen. Always.”

“Thanks, dad,” Johnny says, confused. Her dad leaves the room a few moments later, carrying his wine in one hand, a pie in the other. She drains her glass before pouring another, following him back into the dining room.

—

Johnny _may_ be a little drunk, but it’s not her fault. Her father has a heavy pour, and Maddy’s is even worse. Katie had helped her upstairs half an hour ago, dropping her on the mattress, before shutting the lights off and closing the door. She should sleep. She _can’t_ sleep. 

She calls Chucky.

“What are you wearing?” she asks as soon as he picks up.

“Um, I’m here with Brady right now,” he says. “You’re on speaker…”

Her stomach lurches. “I’m hanging up.”

“No, don’t. Don’t do that. I’m leaving the room,” he says. She can hear him scrambling to get up, can hear Brady laughing in the background. She wants to _die_.

She hears him running up a flight of stairs, feet slapping on the wood. A door slams shut on the other end of the phone, followed by heavy breathing. “Okay, I’m here. I’m in my room. You’re off speaker. Sorry about that.”

He pauses for a second, breathing down the line. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“Hi.”

“...you called?”

“Yeah,” she slurs. “Just wanted to say hi.”

“...are you drunk?”

Johnny hums. “A little.”

“You should sleep.”

“Probably,” she agrees, nodding even though he can’t see her.

“What are you wearing?” she asks again.

“A button-down. Sweats.”

“Mmm. Sexy combo.”

“You really _are_ drunk.” 

“Said so, yeah.”

“What about you?” His breath whistles down the phone. “What are you wearing?”

“A sweater.”

He exhales. “Nothing else?”

“Took my jeans off a while ago.” With one hand, she shoves her underwear off, kicking them when they get to her ankles. “Underwear, too.”

Chucky’s breath stutters down the line. “Fuck. _Fuck_ , okay. Are we doing this?”

“If you want to,” she says, reaching down between her legs to touch herself where she’s getting wet. “Wine makes me so horny.”

“ _Great_ , now I’m going to think about that at every team dinner.”

“I wish you were here, Matthew. Want you so bad right now.” She ghosts her fingers across her clit, before dipping them inside herself. She sighs.

“Are you touching yourself?”

Johnny moans in response, thumbing over her clit.

“Shit, okay.” She hears rustling on the other side of the phone and she hopes he’s getting naked. She wants him to be naked.

“You’re so bad at dirty talk,” she says, “but that’s okay. That’s okay because you don’t have to talk. I could just sit on your face. Or ride you. You love it when I ride you, don’t you? When I get your fat cock inside me and just _take_ it.”

Chucky groans, and she can hear the distinct sound of skin on skin. She wishes she were there with him.

“Wanna suck you off so bad. Wanna taste you all the time. Want you to come all over me.”

“ _Jesus_ , Johnny,” Chucky says, out of breath and overwhelmed.

“Wanna fuck you so bad, Matthew,” she admits. “Wanna get you on all fours and get my fingers inside you. Make you come so hard you never want anyone else.”

He makes a punched out sound, breath stuttering, before his moans are muffled. She can picture him, face buried in the pillow as he fists his cock roughly, spilling all over himself.

“Miss you,” she admits, wondering if he can hear her while he’s coming down. 

“Miss you too,” he says back a few moments later. “Did you come?”

Johnny hums, stretching on the bed until her ankle pops. “No, but I will later. Thinking about you.”

There’s a sudden pounding behind her head.  

“ _ENOUGH!”_ Maddy yells, voice muffled by the wall. “These walls are thin! _Please_ , go to sleep!”

Johnny can’t help the laugh that explodes out of her. 

“I gotta go. Maddy’s gonna kill me if I don’t go to sleep,” she gasps down the line. “Merry Christmas, Matthew.”

“Merry Christmas, Johnny,” he replies, voice impossibly soft.

—

The next morning, Johnny has vague memories of the night before. She thinks she called Chucky and had shitty phone sex, which would explain why she’s currently Donald Duckin’ it on top of the sheets in her childhood bedroom, but she can’t be 100% sure. 

“Jesus,” she mutters, rubbing her hand over her face. Her eyes feel gritty and her head hurts and her mouth tastes the way the locker room smells. 

She slaps around for her phone, finding it shoved under the pillow. 

_ 7:24 _

There’s a slew of texts from yesterday, mostly wishing her a Merry Christmas. Kevin has also sent a new vine compilation. She makes a mental note to watch that later.

Chucky texted late last night, 1:39 her time. She was definitely passed out by then. 

**tkachuky cheese party** 😜  
_brady won’t stop roasting me_ 😒  
_it’s all your fault_

And again at 2:23

_ i owe u one after last night _

And finally, at 2:46

_ i’d let you _

Johnny grips her phone so tight her knuckles hurt. Snippets of their conversation from last night flood through her mind. She throws her phone across the bed, refusing to think about Matthew and pegging before noon. 

—

“Ouch, kiddo,” her dad says, taking one look at her and passing over a cup of coffee, before turning to pour her a glass of water too.

“Maddy’s got a mean pour.”

“You both take after me,” he says, pointing a thumb at himself. His eye bags rival hers.

They drink in silence until Maddy eventually stumbles down the stairs, one sock on, one sock off. 

“Coffee?” Johnny offers. Maddy grunts in response, slinging herself into a chair and putting her head down on the table. 

Guy pours her a mug and places it in front of her. She pulls it close, sitting up only enough to drink it with as little effort as possible. 

“What time is your flight?” he asks. 

“Noon. Gotta head out soon." 

Guy nods, coming to stand next to Johnny at the island, wrapping his arms around her tight.

“Oh, Johnny girl. I’m gonna miss you so much.”

“I know, dad, but you’ll see me soon." 

He hums, squeezing her one last time. “Gonna go take this to your mother,” he says, carrying a mug of coffee out of the room. 

It’s amazing to Johnny, that even after being together over thirty years, her parents are still so in love. She’d thought it was cool as a kid, but now as an adult, seeing what they have and knowing the work it takes, the effort needed to keep a relationship together, to keep a family together—she admired them. She didn’t think she’d ever have anything like that, and that was okay. 

Mostly.

—

The flight back to Calgary is a blur. She leaves New Jersey around noon and lands shortly after 1pm, her body feeling like it’s been through a blender. 

Mony is waiting at the house when she gets home, Bailey wiggling in the front seat of Sean’s truck.

“There’s my baby,” Johnny says, dropping to her knees in the garage as Bailey barrels into her. “How was she?” 

“Perfect, as usual. Stole Winston’s spot on the bed, though. He wasn’t too happy about that.” 

“She’s a bed hog, for sure,” Johnny says. “Thanks for keeping her.”

Sean waves at her. “It’s no problem, we loved having her.”

She follows Johnny and Bailey into the house, carrying one of Johnny’s bags and setting it by the door.

“Have a good Christmas?” Sean asks.

Johnny nods, taking out a bottle of water and drinking it in one go. “Yeah, it was so nice to see everybody. I’m wiped out, though.”

“I bet. Get an early night in, we need you tomorrow.” Sean shoves at her shoulder playfully. Johnny’s heart skips a beat.

“What about you? You and Britt just stay in?”

Sean nods. “Yeah, just a really quiet week for us. She cooked a lot. We watched Netflix. It was nice. First Christmas just the two of us.” 

Johnny grimaces. She’s to blame for that, tagging along every year as the saddest holiday third wheel. She should feel sorry, but she doesn’t. Not really.

“Get any good gifts?” Sean asks, looking at her expectantly.

Johnny stares back. “You _knew_.”

“I may have been consulted.”

“Holy _shit_ ,” she says, feeling bowled over.

“Be careful, okay?” Sean looks at her, pleading.

“I’m always careful,” Johnny says. 

Sean gives her a look, but doesn’t say anything. 

She leaves a little while later, making noise about getting ready for tomorrow’s trip. Johnny orders takeout and curls up in bed with Bailey, passing out well before 10.

—

The flight to Winnipeg is painfully early. Johnny’s body isn’t sure what time it is, and neither is she, if she’s honest. She sleepwalks through most of the day, dragging through pre-game meals and stretches.  

She’s standing in the change room with Mony when someone knocks on the door. 

“It’s open,” Mony calls, slipping a hoodie over her head. Johnny’s standing in her leggings only, back to the door, when Chucky slips his head in.

“Hey,” he says, “Can I come in?”

Mony nods, stepping into her slides before walking back out into the hall. 

Chucky waits until the door swings shut before moving to stand behind Johnny. His arms are warm when they wrap around her, hands skimming over her bare abdomen, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

“Just wanted to say ‘hi’,” he says, face pressed into her hair.

“Hi,” she replies, fingers dancing across his arms. “I saw you at the airport and on the plane.”

“I know, but…” he squeezes her hips, hands hot through the fabric of her leggings.

Matthew makes a soft, shocked sound when Johnny turns to kiss him. His hands settle at the small of her back, pulling her close. She loops her arms around his neck, hands playing with the hair at the base of his neck. She’s acutely aware of how her naked chest is pressing into the soft fabric of his t-shirt and how his calloused hands feel grazing her skin.

Johnny feels hot all over when Chucky pulls back to rest his forehead against hers.  

“You’re wearing it,” he says after a beat, hand reaching up to run his fingers gently over the chain wrapped around her neck.  

“Yeah, of course.” 

He hums softly. “I’m glad.”

Johnny bites her lip, holding back all the things she wants to say, nodding instead. 

“Maybe it’ll be good luck.”

“With how tired I am? We’re gonna need it,” she says, smiling up at him, kissing him once, before turning around to finish getting dressed. 

—

“A fucking _hat trick_ ,” Mony shouts once they’re back in the room after the game. She picks Johnny up, swinging her around in circles like she weighs nothing, laughing the whole time. 

Johnny feels buoyant with how happy she is in that moment.

“Got a new good luck charm,” she tells Sean, smiling so wide her face hurts. 

She meets Matthew’s eye across the room. He smiles back at her before ducking his head, smiling shyly at the floor.

—

“What’re you doing New Year’s Eve?” 

“Hm?”

“Sam’s having a party. Just a small last minute thing. You should come.”

Chucky had followed her home after the game against Vancouver and Johnny hadn’t objected one bit. She thought that, maybe, she could blow him on her bed or in the shower. But he’d simply stripped out of his suit, leaving it in a pile on her floor, and climbed into her bed, patting the spot next to him. Bailey jumped up on the bed immediately, snuggling close to Chucky’s back, and well, she had no choice.

She’d thought that when she climbed into bed, Chucky would wrap himself around her and that… that sounded really nice. But when she’d pulled up the sheets to slide in next to him, he’d turned over, throwing an arm around Bailey.

And, well, she wasn’t opposed to being the big spoon, so she’d wrapped her arms around his waist and settled in for the night. 

“A party?” she asks.

“Just some of the guys and their girlfriends and some of Sam’s weirdo Canadian friends.”

Sometimes she spent New Year’s on the road with the guys, crowded around a corner in a bar or a club, drinking and making the most of it. Other times, she’d fly a friend or two in for company. This year she had no plans. She’d thought that, maybe, it’d be just her and Bailey at home. And maybe Chucky, if he wanted. 

But a party… she could do a party.

“Yeah,” she says, tightening her arm around him. “That sounds nice.”

“So, you’ll come?”

“Yes, Chuck, I’ll come to the party.”

“Great,” he says, exhaling like he’d been holding his breath. He picks her hand up from where it’s resting on his chest, and kisses the tip of each finger gently before pressing a kiss to her palm. It’s so achingly tender, and most definitely _not_ buddies. She should tell him not to, but she’d hate to see the look on his face. 

She falls asleep with her face pressed into Matthew’s back, fingers tangled with his. 

—

A pretty blonde opens the door for Johnny when she knocks on Sam’s door. Johnny’s never met her before, so she’s definitely not dating one of the guys. She introduces herself as Leah, one of Sam’s friends from Toronto. 

Sam’s condo is nice and well-decorated in that way that she knows means this place came furnished, but she can’t blame him for that. Nothing is a guarantee in their world.  

Johnny’s surprised by how well-stocked the party is when it comes to food and booze, given how last minute it was. She assumes his friends were responsible for that, and for the music currently pumping through the dimly lit rooms.

She finds Chucky in the kitchen, pouring himself a drink and talking to Noah, who is evidently going through a break-up. 

“Drink this,” Chucky says, handing over whatever concoction he’s come up with. Noah does, drinking it all in one go, slamming the cup down. Chucky looks impressed and scared. 

“Gonna go find Lindy,” Noah says, nodding at Johnny before slumping out of the room.

When Matthew looks at her, her stomach flips.  

“This is nice,” he says, stepping close into her space and touching the soft fabric of the white sweater she’d put on after the game. She’d swung by the house to check on Bailey, changing before she could talk herself out of it.

“Pour me a drink?” she asks, instead of acknowledging the complicated knots her stomach is twisting into. He mixes something for her, pressing it into her hand, before kissing her on the cheek quickly, and ushering her out of the room. 

—

Midnight sneaks up on Johnny. She’s talking to Lindy about things to do in Banff when Chucky walks over and touches her elbow softly. 

“Can I steal her for a moment?” 

Lindy nods, turning to jump seamlessly into whatever conversation Rasmus and Ollie are having.

Johnny follows behind Chucky as he leads her down a hall and into a room.

“This better not be Benny’s…”

“It’s not, I promise,” he says, pulling her through it, before closing the door quietly behind him, and pushing into her space. 

“You look so pretty tonight,” he says, tucking her hair behind her ear. He strokes her waist through the soft fabric of her sweater, hand resting hotly against her hip.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Chucky kisses her then, achingly soft, with palms cupping her jaw. She loops her arms around his waist, pulling him close. He moans softly into their kiss, teeth catching on her lower lip, when she drags her hands down his back, squeezing his ass through his jeans. 

“Half of the team is down the hall,” she warns when he pulls back to kiss down her neck.

“I can be quiet,” he says, hands slipping under her sweater to stroke at her skin. “Can you?”

“You know I can’t,” she says, hands catching in his curls to pull him back. His cheeks are flushed and his lips are so red and wet and _god_ she wants nothing more than to let him just undo her. 

But she can’t. Not tonight. 

So she drops to her knees, hands coming up to settle on Chucky’s thick thighs. 

“Yes?” she asks, looking up at him.

He swallows hard. “Yes.”

She makes quick work of his belt, before thumbing open his jeans, and pulling the zipper down. He gasps when she presses a kiss to his soft belly, moans when she runs her tongue across it.

“Fuck. I’m not gonna make it.”

“I don’t care if you last, you know that,” Johnny says, yanking his jeans down his thighs, before carefully pulling his boxers down too. He’s half-hard, the head of his cock only just beginning to poke out of his foreskin.

“I meant that you’re going to kill me.”

Johnny laughs. “Maybe. Guess we’ll see,” she says, looking up at him through her lashes before opening her mouth to run her tongue over his fat cockhead. 

Chucky hisses.

“Gonna be good for me, Matthew?” she asks, stroking her hand down Chucky’s dick, twisting it on the up-stroke, foreskin slipping over the shiny, wet head.

“Yes,” he says, pressing his hands flat against the wall behind him. The sight alone makes Johnny reach down to touch herself through her leggings.

“Good answer,” she says, before closing her lips around the head of his cock, swirling her tongue and taking him deeper into her mouth. 

Through the five or so months they’ve been hooking up, they’ve done a lot of things, but this isn’t one of them. 

Johnny has _regrets_. 

Chucky feels so good in her mouth, hot and hard and heavy pressing against her tongue. Usually when giving blowjobs, she tries to just stick to the basics and not get too cute. A lot of suction, a lot of spit, and a good rhythm is all you really need.

But she’d be a liar if she said she didn’t want to pull out all the stops right now.  

She draws back to dip her tongue into the slit, looking up to find that Matthew has his eyes closed, fingertips white from how hard they’re pressing into the wall. 

“Relax, Matthew,” she says, before taking him back into her mouth. She slides down as far as she can, before pulling back, keeping the suction hard. She does it again and again, until she feels his thighs begin to shake. 

“Gonna come in my mouth?” she asks, pulling back to slowly press kisses up his cock.

He groans in response, watching through slit eyes as she strokes her hand over him.

“Fuck,” Chucky says. “Yeah, okay.” He reaches down to thumb at her lip where she knows it’s swollen and spit slick. 

Johnny turns her head to press a quick kiss to his palm, before taking him back into her mouth again. She takes him as deep as she can, drawing back to suck on the head while jacking him off, hard and fast, until he’s coming in her mouth. Johnny moans around him, swallowing, before pulling off. 

Matthew’s chest is heaving when she looks up at him, but he’s staring right back at her.  

“You’ve got, um—” he says, pointing at the corner of his mouth. 

“Oh,” she says, dragging her thumb across her chin and lower lip, before bringing it to her mouth. She looks up at him as she sucks it off.

“Jesus, Johnny,” he says, hauling her up by her arm. He kisses her, slipping his tongue into her mouth, tasting himself. 

“You’re incredible,” he says, thumbing at her cheek, before reaching down to pull his pants up.

“It’s just a blowjob, Chuck.”

He looks at her with an unreadable expression, before looking at the floor. 

“Go on a date with me,” Chucky says, unexpectedly.

Johnny feels her stomach drop. 

“What?” she asks.

“Come on, Johnny,” he says, doing up his belt, before looking down at her. “Go on a date with me.”

Johnny sighs, looking anywhere but at Matthew.

“Chucky…” she starts to say, taking a step back.

“Come on, give me one reason why we shouldn’t.” He looks determined, body held tall. 

She can’t say ‘Because we’re teammates’. That’s a cop-out and she knows it.

“You’re just… so young Chuck,” she says, begging him to understand. He takes a step back from her, looking livid.

“What? So—so what? I’m old enough to fuck, but not old enough to date?” he asks, a challenge. 

Johnny shrugs. “Yeah, basically.”

“Oh, well that’s fucking rich,” he says, sighing, before running one through his hair. “I’m not asking you to marry me, Johnny, I’m asking you to go on one date with me.” 

“And I’m saying no, Matthew,” she says as gently and as firmly as she can. She’s not really sure where this is coming from, or how they got to this moment, but she wants it to stop immediately. She wants to _leave_.

He bites his lip, and looks away from her, bravado falling away. 

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks.

“No, of course not,” Johnny says, taking a step forward.

Matthew swallows, nodding. 

“Is it about Mony?” he asks, voice pitched low.

“What?” Johnny asks. She’s startled by the sudden turn in questioning and feels more than a little cornered.

“You love her, right?” he asks, face twisted up, like he’s trying to be understanding.

“I—” Johnny starts to say, but stops. Because he’s right. She _does_ love Mony. She just doesn’t like to think about it.

“You do, don’t you,” he says, running his hands through his hair, gripping his curls tightly before letting go. “Fuck,” he whispers.

“I’m sorry,” Johnny says, feeling exposed and raw and overwhelmed and embarrassed.

“No, hey, it’s okay,” he says, pulling her in by her sleeve and hugging her tight. “It’s okay.” 

But it doesn’t feel okay. It feels like she’s fucked everything up.

It feels like something she should’ve seen coming.

Why didn’t she see this coming?

“I should go,” she says, wanting nothing more than to crawl under her duvet and _hide_.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

He follows her out of the room and down the hall. Everyone is crowded around the TV, watching a New Year’s Eve special. No one even spares them a glance.

“See you later?” she offers.

“Happy New Year,” he says, pressed up against the doorway.

“Happy New Year, Matthew,” she replies, before dragging her ass home and straight to bed.

—

They don’t talk about it. Matthew mostly acts normal, and apart from a few stilted moments when the two of them are left alone for more than a few seconds, it’s alright.  

Sure, he won’t look her in the eye, or speak directly to her, but they still connect on the ice, still generate goals. That’s what it’s about, right? 

Johnny naively assumes that no one else feels the tension between them, that it’s their little secret. 

Johnny is, objectively, an idiot.

—

They go to the Eagles game in Chicago. In a fit of euphoria, Johnny had bought the tickets on New Year’s Eve—before the party. It’d been a perfect idea, at the time. All she could think about was playoffs and her Eagles and being surrounded by Mony and Chucky and… 

Now she had regrets. Big ones. 

Matthew doesn’t talk to her, much, but he’s cordial. His mother raised him right, after all. 

Admittedly, Johnny’s never been particularly good at pacing herself when she’s nervous or excited. She drinks more than she should at the game, slurring by the time they hit third quarter, wasted by the time the fourth starts. 

Sean is a warm, solid line down her side, arm secure around her, more to keep her upright than anything else. It doesn’t stop her heart from beating double time, or the flush from creeping up her face. 

She doesn’t miss the hurt in Matthew’s eyes every time she catches his gaze.

She never wanted to hurt him.

But part of her always knew it’d end this way.

—

Johnny’s only been home for twenty minutes when her doorbell rings. She’s surprised to find Sean on the other side, face set hard with determination. 

“We need to talk,” she says, barging in, not giving Johnny a choice. 

“Sure, Sean, please do come in,” Johnny mumbles, waving her arm at her wide open foyer.

Johnny watches as she carefully unlaces her boots and puts them on the tray next to Johnny’s, before following her into the living room.  

“Sit,” she says, pointing at the couch next to her.

“I’m not a dog,” Johnny whines, but sits anyway. 

“Tell me what’s going on with you and Chucky.” 

“Nothing’s going on.” 

Sean levels a glare at her and Johnny folds.

“He asked me out.” 

“And you said…?”

“I said ‘no’, obviously,” Johnny says, feeling irritated.

“What? Why?” Sean looks confused. 

“Because he’s too young. Because we’re teammates. Because it wouldn’t work out? Take your pick.”

Sean rolls her eyes. “Okay that’s bullshit,” she says.

Johnny bristles. “Why do you fucking care?”

“Because you’re clearly more into him than you’re letting on.”

Johnny blinks, feeling like she’s just lost an edge on the ice, that moment where you’re weightless in mid-air right before you get _rocked_. 

“Just, fucking leave it, Sean.” 

“I won’t. Why did you _really_ tell him no? Because I know it’s not the age thing. That’s such bullshit.” 

“I’m four years older than him,” Johnny says, picking at her nails.  

“So? That hasn’t stopped you from hooking up with him for what, five months now?” 

Johnny glares at Sean, who only crosses her arms and looks challengingly back at Johnny. 

“So, we’re at different parts of our lives?” Johnny offers.

Mony rolls her eyes, looking unimpressed. “We’re hockey players. Our life timelines don’t match up with regular people’s life timelines. You and Chucky are not that far apart.”

“Yeah but like, I’m twenty-five. I should be thinking about marriage and—and babies and stuff.”

Mony scoffs. “But you’re not. I know you.” 

“You don’t know everything about me, Sean,” Johnny says, bristling.

“But I do,” Sean says, looking so fucking sure of herself, like Johnny couldn’t possibly have a secret worth keeping, especially one she wouldn’t keep from _Sean_. 

“Come on, Johnny. What’s the problem?” 

Sean’s face is so open and kind and Johnny can see her there, the girl she fell for all those years ago. She _knows_ in her heart that Sean would never leave Britt, that Sean will probably marry Britt and have babies with Britt and live her life with _Britt_. 

It burns her up with jealousy to think about it, to actually acknowledge the truth. She’ll never have what she wants most in the world—and it’s all her fault.

Might as well go for broke.

“I’m in love with you,” Johnny says, finally, annoyed and aggravated. 

And Sean _laughs_. She fucking _laughs_.

“No, you’re not,” she says.

“Yes, I am.”

“No. You’re really not.”

“Yes, I fucking am,” Johnny insists.

And now Sean’s pissed off. 

“No, you’re not,” she says with finality. She sits forward so her elbows are braced on her knees and she’s staring at Johnny with a coldness Johnny’s never seen before.   

“That was the problem with us, or do you not remember? I was always way more invested than you were. Well,” she laughs, bitterly, “until it was over. You don’t _love_ me, Johnny. You love the idea of us. You love that you can hide behind something you can’t have, so you don’t have to get your heart broken for real.” 

Sean sighs, taking a deep breath. Johnny’s head is spinning. 

“You don’t love me, Johnny. You never did. I just make you feel safe, because I’m the risk you’ll never take.” 

And Johnny can’t fucking breathe. She can’t breathe with how tight her chest is, from how much her eyes hurt from the tears she’s holding back.  

“That’s why you hook up with guys you don’t give a shit about. Why you tell them you have a _boyfriend_. You can’t get your heart broken if you never actually get attached.”

Sean moves closer to her on the couch, looking her in the eyes.

“I’ve got news for you, Johnny. You’re attached to Chucky. Big time.” 

“Fuck you,” Johnny says, finally finding her voice.

“What?” Sean asks, sitting back. 

“Fucking, _fuck you_ ,” Johnny says standing up. She’s shaking now and can’t stop it. Bailey comes from across the room to nose at her hand, whining softly. “You should leave. I want you to leave.”

“Okay, John,” Sean says, voice soft, hands outstretched in a gesture Johnny knows is meant to be comforting, but all Johnny wants to do in this moment is fucking _swing_. “I’ll go.”

Johnny stands in the living room, listening as Mony gets her boots on, waiting for the quiet click of her door closing, before she collapses onto the couch. 

—

There’s no practice the following day, only an optional skate. Johnny doesn’t get out of bed, except to get water and to take care of Bailey. She _mopes_.

Sean thinks Johnny doesn’t love her, that Johnny had _never_ loved her, which just, isn’t fucking fair. How dare she think she can tell Johnny how she feels? _Fuck_ Sean.

She calls Kevin and tells him everything.

“Well, you’ve found yourself in a real bitch of a situation, haven’t you, kid?”

Johnny grunts.

“Do you know what you’re going to do?”

“Do I ever?” Johnny asks. 

“More than you give yourself credit for,” Kevin offers. “In my experience, you usually know what you want.” 

And… that’s true. More or less. She knows what she wants, that’s never the problem. It’s what she’s allowed to have that always kicks her in the ass. 

She wanted hockey, but was she allowed to have it?

She wanted to be in the NHL, but was she allowed to have it?

She wanted Mony, but was she allowed to have her?

She… wanted Chucky, but was she allowed to have him?

“Fuck,” she whispers.

“There it is. You got it,” Kevin says. “Call me when you work it out?”

“You’re a bastard.”

“Yeah, but I’m _your_ bastard.” 

—

The thing about being a hockey player, is that you have a lot of down time. Like, too much down time. So much so, it’s nearly impossible to run from your own thoughts.

Thoughts like… maybe Mony was right. 

Not, entirely right. Johnny had loved her. Had been in love with her. But she hadn’t, not for a while. What she felt for Sean, those safe-and-cared-for, bubbly, fuzzy, fresh-out-of-the-dryer feelings she had for her… were safe. And old. And something she’d held onto for entirely too long. Sean had Britt. Sean _loved_ Britt.

What would waiting around get Johnny other than disappointment?

So she’d loved Sean and she’d lost Sean and she’d survived. 

And… maybe Mony was also right that Johnny had gotten attached to Chucky.

Johnny thought about all the time they’d spent together. Not just the sex, but all the talks they’d had. All the secrets they’d shared. 

She didn’t love Chucky, not yet. But she could see it, how what they had could grow into more.

And that was scary. That’s what terrified her more than anything else ever had in her life.

—

When she was a kid, she’d asked her dad if he thought she could play hockey professionally.

“Of course,” he’d said. “If that’s what you want to do. It might be hard, but all the best things in life usually are.” 

“There’s not really anyone out there like me,” she said. 

“Well, somebody has to be the first,” he’d told her.

“But that’s kind of scary.”

“If it’s something you want, and it scares you, that’s why you should do it,” he said, sounding more sure about that than she’d ever felt about anything in her whole life. 

“I should go after the things that scare me?” she asked.

He nodded. “Exactly. Don’t be so scared of life that you let it pass you by. Chase the dreams that scare you the most.”

Johnny had thought about that for a few moments, then said, “That’s stupid,” and her dad had laughed and laughed, hugging her tight.

—

They’re opening the year at home against the Avalanche, who are mid-slump and gunning for a win, any win. Johnny knows it’s going to be a wild ride. She also knows she can’t go back out on the ice without talking to Mony about everything. Admittedly, she’d rather retire on the spot than have a conversation about her _feelings_ , but she’s also having a really, really good season, and _goddamn_ wouldn’t that be a waste?  

She corners Mony when she’s sharpening her skates, which is probably not the best decision. She has a brief vision of Mony pointing a blade at her, threateningly. Sean shoots her a tight-lipped smile instead, giving her a nod.

“I need to talk to you,” Johnny says.

“Now?” Sean asks, focusing fully on the blade.

“ _Yes_ ,” Johnny says, pleading.

Mony sighs heavily, but follows her all the same. When they’ve rounded enough corners that they’ve gotten lost in the belly of the ‘Dome, Johnny turns to her.

“You were right,” she says.

“I was?” Mony asks, sounding hesitant and confused, like she’s not used to anyone telling her that she’s right about anything, which might actually be true. Sean can be a brick.

“Well, partially. I don’t love you,” she says, and Mony opens her mouth like she’s going to respond, but Johnny stops her with a raised hand. “But I did. I did love you.” 

“You did?” Sean asks, brows scrunches up. 

“Yes. I think I loved you from the moment I met you,” Johnny admits. “But I was too afraid of what other people would think to ever show you. I was scared of us.”

“Oh, John—”

“No, it’s okay. I’m not afraid anymore. I know who I am.”

Sean looks sad and fond and wistful all at once, and Johnny has to look away.

“I don’t love Chucky either,” she says. 

“I know that.” 

“But I think I could. I think… I want to find out.”

“That’s good,” Sean says, reaching out to stroke a hand gently down Johnny’s arm.

“I think I really hurt him, Sean,” Johnny whispers, frowning. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Tell him what you told me.” 

“Everything?”

Sean’s face does something complicated. “Maybe not everything, but everything that feels right.”

“Thanks a lot, that’s helpful.”

“You can do it,” Mony says, smiling now, “I believe in you.” 

She punches Johnny softly in the shoulder, before grabbing her and pulling her in for a hug. Johnny melts into it, feeling nothing but comfort for the first time. 

—

Johnny goes straight to Chucky’s after they win against the Panthers. She doesn’t plan on it, having thought long and hard about going home to Bailey and McDonald’s and a long night piled up in bed. She’d been a little shocked when she’d realized where she was going halfway through the drive, body taking her on auto-pilot to the other side of town. 

She’s been parked in the parking lot for ten minutes when she realizes that Matthew might not even _be_ here, likely out with Hanny and Lindy at Cowboys, or some other place.  

“Just go home. Just back up and go home. We can sleep this off, it’s all good. Just pretend you never did this.” 

She gets out of the truck.

“Hi,” she says to the concierge when he lets her into the lobby. “I’m here to see Matthew Tkachuk.”

The concierge raises one eyebrow at her, taking her in, before picking up the phone. 

It rings for what feels like an hour before he picks up. 

“Mr. Tkachuk? Yes, this is Allen in the lobby. I have a… young woman here to see you.” He pauses for a moment, looking her over. “Black hair, short. Suit,” he says. “I see. Alright, I’ll let her know. Goodnight.”

Allen takes his time hanging up the phone, before looking at her and saying, “Mr. Tkachuk says you may come up.”

“Fuck, thank you,” she says, scrambling away from the desk.

The elevator takes too long and Johnny briefly considers taking the stairs, but Chucky lives on the top floor, and she’s not about to die for him. She does press the buttons approximately one-hundred times and all but speed walks down his hall when she gets to his floor.

His door opens before she can even knock.

She had this whole speech planned out in her head, had gone over it in the shower and in her truck and in the locker room. Over and over and over.

But looking at him, she’s got nothing.

“Is this a bad time?” she asks.

“It’s… 11:47,” he says, looking at his watch, before looking back up at her, as if that tells her _anything_. He steps back to let her in.

He’s alone and wearing a threadbare t-shirt and sweats. His socks don’t match, which makes her _feel_ _things_.

She follows him to his couch where they sit. He looks at her expectantly. She still says nothing.

He sighs, looking at the floor. “No offense, Johnny, but… why are you here?”

“I don’t love her,” Johnny blurts out, blowing her cinematic speech. Chucky’s brows shoot up his forehead. “I did. But I don’t anymore.”

“Okay…”

“And I don’t love you either,” she says. He flinches. “But I could, I think.”

“You could?” he asks, voice barely more than a whisper. 

“I think so,” she says, shrugging. “Go on a date with me?”

“What?” Chucky asks, looking shocked.

“Go out with me.” 

“Are you serious?”

“Very,” Johnny says, trying to radiate just how serious she is.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” she offers. “I didn’t mean to. I was just, trying to protect myself." 

He nods. “I think I understand that,” he says, and then, “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I’ll go out with you.”

He smiles then, big and gappy and _perfect_ and Johnny’s heart clenches.

“If I order us McDonald’s right now, can we count that as a first date?” she asks. 

Chucky frowns. “Wow, Johnny, I’m hurt. You could at least splurge and get me Chipotle.”

“It’s midnight. Chipotle isn’t open.”

“Yeah, but it’s the thought that counts, right?” he says, mouth split open in a shit-eating grin.

“I take it back, I don’t think I want to date you anymore.”

“Liar,” he says, smiling even bigger, before dragging her in for a kiss. It’s a soft, imperfect thing, but her heart skips a beat anyway when his hands come up to thread in her hair. His forehead presses into hers when he pulls back and she feels so good in this moment, pressed close to Chucky and sharing his space. 

This close up, she can see the clear blue of his eyes and how curly his eyelashes are and the freckles on his cheeks. 

“Get me a McFlurry and you’ve got a date,” Matthew says, pulling her hand to his mouth to press a kiss to her palm. 

“Deal,” she says, smiling so hard it hurts.

  

**Author's Note:**

> Johnny and Chucky really did get [drunk and livestream their day in Cabo](https://crown-city-or-die.tumblr.com/post/157035235308/i-just-seen-the-best-live-stream-ever-omg-they). Legends only.
> 
> And the [hand](https://matthewtkafuck.tumblr.com/post/182639787781) [kiss](https://mangiapanes.tumblr.com/post/181602627137) [is](https://werenski.tumblr.com/post/183505401923/matthew-tkachuk-johnny-gaudreau-cgy-wpg) [100%](https://gary-bettman.tumblr.com/post/183577638919/smooches) [real](https://calemakar.tumblr.com/post/170969646563).
> 
> Drop by my [fic twitter](https://twitter.com/honeywrites_) to chat about anything and everything!
> 
> This is part of an ongoing series I have planned, so be sure to subscribe to me.


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